LIBRARY 

Theological 

Seminary,  ' 

PRINCETON 

.     N.    J. 

i 

DiviSKin , 

1   suit 

i     Booh 

1 

1 
■^ect!or,_ , \ 

No \ 

LAST     ESSAYS 


CHURCH    AND    RELIGION 


Qii^on  fonde  la  foi  profonde 


LAST    ESSAYS 


ON 


CHURCH    AND    RELIGION 


BY 

MATTHEW   ARNOLD 

FORMERLY    PROFESSOR   OF    POETRY    IN    THE   UNIVERSITY   OF   OXFORD 
AND   FELLOW   OF   ORIEL    COLLEGE 


MACMILLAN     AND      CO. 

NEW    YORK 

1877 


PREFACE, 


The  present  volume  closes  the  series  of  my  attempts 
to  deal  directly  with  questions  concerning  religion  and 
the  Church.  Indirectly  such  questions  must  often,  in 
all  serious  literary  work,  present  themselves  ;  but  in 
this  volume  I  make  them  my  direct  object  for  the  last 
time.  Assuredly  it  was  not  for  my  own  pleasure  that 
I  entered  upon  them  at  first,  and  it  is  with  anything 
but  reluctance  that  I  now  part  from  them.  Neither  can 
I  be  ignorant  what  offence  my  handling  of  them  has 
given  to  many  whose  good-will  I  value,  and  with  what 
relief  they  will  learn  that  the  handling  is  now  to 
cease.  Personal  considerations,  however,  ought  not  in 
a  matter  like  this  to  bear  sway  ;  and  they  have  not, 
in  fact,  determined  me  to  bring  to  an  end  the  work 
which  I  had  been  pursuing.  But  the  thing  which  I 
proposed  to  myself  to   do   has,   so   far  as  my  powers 


PREFACE. 


enabled  me  to  do  it,  been  done.  What  I  wished  to 
say  has  been  said.  And  in  returning  to  devote  to 
literature,  more  strictly  so-called,  what  remains  to  me 
of  life  and  strength  and  leisure,  I  am  returning,  after 
all,  to  a  field  where  work  of  the  most  important  kind 
has  now  to  be  done,  though  indirectly,  for  religion.  I 
am  persuaded  that  the  transformation  of  religion,  which 
is  essential  for  its  perpetuance,  can  be  accomplished  only 
by  carrying  the  qualities  of  flexibility,  perceptiveness,  and 
judgment,  which  are  the  best  fruits  of  letters,  to  whole 
classes  of  the  community  which  now  know  next  to  no- 
thing of  them,  and  by  procuring  the  application  of  those 
qualities  to  matters  where  they  are  never  applied  now. 
A  survey  of  the  forms  and  tendencies  which  reli- 
gion exhibits  at  the  present  day  in  England  has  been 
made  lately  by  a  man  of  genius,  energy,  and  sympathy, 
— Mr.  Gladstone.  Mr.  Gladstone  seems  disposed  to  fix 
as  the  test  of  value,  for  those  several  forms,  their 
greater  or  lesser  adaptedness  to  the  mind  of  masses  of 
our  peojDle.  It  may  be  admitted  that  religion  ought 
to  be  capable  of  reaching  the  mind  of  masses  of  men. 
It  may  be  admitted  that  a  religion  not  plain  and 
simple,  a  religion  of  abstractions  and  intellectual  re- 
finements,   cannot  influence    masses   of  men.      But   it 


PREFACE. 


is  an  error  to  imagine  that  the  mind  of  our  masses, 
or  even  the  mind  of  our  religious  world,  is  something 
which  may  remain  just  as  it  now  is,  and  that  religion  will 
have  to  adapt  itself  to  that  mind  just  as  it  now  is. 
At  least  as  much  change  is  required,  and  will  have  to 
take  place,  in  that  mind  as  in  religion.  Gross  of  per- 
ception and  materialising  that  mind  is,  at  present,  still 
disposed  to  be.  Yet  at  the  same  time  it  is  undeni- 
able that  the  old  anthropomorphic  and  miraculous 
religion,  suited  in  many  respects  to  such  a  mind,  no 
longer  reaches  and  rules  it  as  it  once  did.  A  check 
and  disturbance  to  religion  thence  arises.  Eut  let  us 
impute  the  disturbance  to  the  right  cause.  It  is  not 
to  be  imputed  merely  to  the  inadequacy  of  the  old 
materiahsing  religion,  and  to  be  remedied  by  giving  to 
this  religion  a  form  still  materialising,  but  more  ac- 
ceptable. It  is  to  be  imputed,  in  at  least  an  equal 
degree,  to  the  grossness  of  perception  and  materialising 
habits  of  the  popular  mind,  which  unfit  it  for  any 
religion  not  lending  itself,  like  the  old  popular  reli- 
gion, to  those  habits  ;  while  yet,  from  other  causes, 
that  old  religion  cannot  maintain  its  sway.  And.  it 
is  to  be  remedied  by  a  gradual  transformation  of  the 
popular  mind,   by  slowly  curing  it   of  its  grossness   of 


viii  PREFACE. 


perception  and  of  its  materialising  habits,  not  by  keeping 
religion  materialistic  that  it  may  correspond  to  them. 

The  conditions  of  the  religious  question  are,  in 
truth,  profoundly  misapprehended  in  this  country.  In 
England  and  in  America  religion  has  retained  so  much 
hold  upon  the  affections  of  the  community,  that  the 
partisans  of  popular  religion  are  easily  led  to  enter- 
tain illusions ;  to  fancy  that  the  difficulties  of  their 
case  are  much  less  than  they  are,  that  they  can  make 
terms  which  they  cannot  make,  and  save  things  which 
they  cannot  save.  A  good  medicine  for  such  illusions 
would  be  the  perusal  of  the  criticisms  which  Litera-^ 
twe  and  Dogma  has  encountered  on  the  Continent. 
Here  in  England  that  book  passes,  in  general,  for  a 
book  revolutionary  and  anti-religious.  In  foreign 
critics  of  the  liberal  school  it  provokes  a  feeling  of 
mingled  astonishment  and  impatience ;  impatience,  that 
religion  should  be  set  on  new  grounds  when  they  had 
hoped  that  religion,  the  old  ground  having  in  the 
judgment  of  all  rational  persons  given  way,  was  going 
to  ruin  as  fast  as  could  fairly  be  expected;  astonish- 
ment, that  any  man  of  liberal  tendencies  should  not 
agree  with  them. 

Particularly  striking,    in  this   respect,   were   the    re- 


PREFACE. 


marks  upon  Literature  and  Dogma  of  M.  Challemel- 
Lacour,  in  France,  and  of  Professor  de  Gubernatis, 
in  Italy.  Professor  de  Gubematis  is  perhaps  the  most 
accomplished  man  in  Italy ;  he  is  certainly  one  of  the 
m.ost  intelligent.  M.  Challemel-Lacour  is,  or  was,  one  of 
the  best,  gravest,  most  deeply  interesting  and  instructive, 
of  French  ^^^:iters.  His  admirable  series  of  articles  on 
Wilhelm  von  Humboldt,  which  I  read  a  good  many  years 
ago  in  the  Rezme  des  Deux  Mondes,  still  live  as  fresh 
in  my  memory  as  if  I  had  read  them  yesterday.  M. 
Challemel-Lacour  has  become  an  ardent  politician.  It 
is  well  known  how  politics,  in  France,  govern  men's 
treatment  of  the  religious  question.  Some  little  temper 
and  heat  are  excusable,  undoubtedly,  when  religion  raises 
in  a  man's  mind  simply  the  image  of  the  clerical 
party  and  of  his  sworn  political  foes.  Perhaps  a  man's 
view  of  religion,  however,  must  necessarily  in  this 
case  be  somewhat  warped.  Professor  de  Gubernatis 
is  not  a  politician ;  he  is  an  independent  friend  of  pro- 
gress, of  high  studies,  and  of  intelligence.  His  remarks 
on  Litei'ature  and  Dogma,  therefore,  and  on  the  at- 
tempt made  in  that  book  to  give  a  new  life  to  reli- 
gion by  giving  a  new  sense  to  words  of  the  Bible^ 
have   even  a  greater  significance  than   M.    Challemel- 


PREFACE, 


Lacour's.  For  Italy  and  for  Italians,  says  Professor  de 
Gubernatis,  such  an  attempt  has  and  can  have  no  interest 
whatever.  '  In  Italy  the  Bible  is  just  this  : — for  priests, 
a  sacred  text ;  for  infidels,  a  book  full  of  obscurities 
and  contradictions  ;  for  the  learned,  an  historical  docu- 
ment to  be  used  with  great  caution  \  for  lovers  of  litera- 
ture, a  collection  of  very  fine  specimens  of  Oriental  poetic 
eloquence.  But  it  never  has  been,  and  never  will  be, 
a  fruitful  inspirer  of  men's  daily  life.'  '  And  how  won- 
derful,' Professor  de  Gubernatis  adds,  'that  anyone 
should  wish  to  make  it  so,  and  should  raise  intellectual 
and  literary  discussions  having  this  for  their  object  ! ' 
'It  is  strange  that  the  human  genius  should  take 
pleasure  in  combating  in  such  narrow  lists,  with  such 
treacherous  ground  under  one's  feet,  with  such  a  cloudy 
sky  over  one's  head  ; — and  all  this  in  the  name  of  freedom 
of  discussion!'  'What  would  the  author  of  Literature 
and  Dogma  say,'  concludes  Professor  de  Gubernatis, 
'if  Plato  had  based  his  republic  upon  a  text  of 
Hesiod ; — se  Platone  avesse  fondata  la  sua  Repuhblica 
sopra  un  testo  d'EsiodoV  That  is  to  say,  the  Bible 
has  no  more  solidity  and  value,  as  a  basis  for  human 
life,  than   the    Theogony, 

Here  we  have,  undoubtedly,  the  genuine  opinion  of 


PREFACE. 


Continental  liberalism  concerning  the  religion  of  the  Bible 
and  its  future.  It  is  stated  with  unusual  frankness  and 
clearness,  but  it  is  the  genuine  opinion.  It  is  not  an 
opinion  which  at  present  prevails  at  all  widely  either  in 
this  country  or  in  America.  But  when  we  consider  the 
immense  change  which,  in  other  matters  where  tradition 
and  convention  were  the  obstacles  to  change,  has  befallen 
the  thought  of  this  country  since  the  Continent  was  opened 
at  the  end  of  the  great  war,  we  cannot  doubt  that  in 
religion,  too,  the  mere  barriers  of  tradition  and  con- 
vention will  finally  give  way,  that  a  common  European 
level  of  thought  will  establish  itself,  and  will  spread  to 
America  also.  Of  course  there  will  be  backwaters, 
more  or  less  strong,  of  superstition  and  obscurantism  ;  but 
I  speak  of  the  probable  development  of  opinion  in  those 
classes  which  are  to  be  called  progressive  and  liberal. 
Such  classes  are  undoubtedly  the  multiplying  and  pre- 
vailing body  both  here  and  in  America.  And  I  say  that, 
if  we  judge  the  future  from  the  past,  these  classes,  in  any 
matter  where  it  is  tradition  and  convention  that  at 
present  isolates  them  from  the  common  liberal  opinion 
of  Europe,  will,  with  time,  be  drawn  almost  inevitably 
into  that  opinion. 

The  partisans  of  traditional  religion  in  this  country 


PREFACE. 


do  not  know,  I  think,  how  decisively  the  whole  force  of 
progressive  and  liberal  opinion  on  the  Continent  has 
pronounced  against  the  Christian  religion.  They  do 
not  know  how  surely  the  whole  force  of  progressive 
and  liberal  opinion  in  this  country  tends  to  follow,  so 
far  as  traditional  religion  is  concerned,  the  opinion  of 
the  Continent.  They  dream  of  patching  up  things  un- 
mendable,  of  retaining  what  can  never  be  retained,  of 
stopping  change  at  a  point  where  it  can  never  be  stopped. 
The  undoubted  tendency  of  liberal  opinion  is  to  reject 
the  whole  anthropomorphic  and  miraculous  religion  of 
tradition,  as  unsound  and  untenable.  On  the  Continent 
such  opinion  has  rejected  it  already.  One  cannot  blame 
the  rejection.  '  Things  are  what  they  are,'  and  the 
religion  of  tradition.  Catholic  or  Protestant,  is  unsound 
and  untenable.  A  greater  force  of  tradition  in  favour  ot 
religion  is  all  which  now  prevents  the  liberal  opinion  in 
this  country  from  following  Continental  opinion.  That 
force  is  not  of  a  nature  to  be  permanent,  and  it  will  not,  in 
fact,  hold  out  long.  But  a  very  grave  question  is  behind. 
Rejecting,  henceforth,  all  concern  with  the  obsolete 
religion  of  tradition,  the  liberalism  of  the  Continent 
rejects  also,  and  on  the  like  grounds,  all  concern  with 
the  Bible  and  Christianity.     To  claim  for  the  Bible  the 


PREFACE. 


direction,  in  any  way,  of  modern  life,  is,  we  hear,  as  if 
Plato  had  sought  to  found  his  ideal  republic  *  upon  a  text 
of  Hesiod.'  The  real  question  is  whether  this  conclu- 
sion, too,  of  modern  liberalism  is  to  be  admitted,  like 
the  conclusion  that  traditionary  religion  is  unsound  and 
obsolete.  And  it  does  not  find  many  gainsayers.  Ob- 
scurantists are  glad  to  see  the  question  placed  on  this 
footing :  that  the  cause  of  traditionary  religion,  and  the 
cause  of  Christianity  in  general,  must  stand  or  fall  to- 
gether. For  they  see  but  very  little  way  into  the  future  j 
and  in  the  immediate  present  this  way  of  putting  the 
question  tells,  as  they  clearly  perceive,  in  their  favour. 
In  the  immediate  present  many  will  be  tempted  to  cling 
to  the  traditionary  religion  with  their  eyes  shut,  rather 
than  accept  the  extinction  of  Christianity.  Other  friends 
of  religion  are  busy  with  fantastic  projects,  which  can 
never  come  to  anything,  but  which  prevent  their  seeing 
the  real  character  of  the  situation.  So  the  thesis  of 
modern  liberals  on  the  Continent,  that  Christianity  in 
general  stands  on  the  same  footing  as  traditionary  reli- 
gion and  must  share  its  fate,  meets  ^vith  little  direct 
discussion  or  opposition.  And  liberal  opinion  every- 
where will  at  last  grow  accustomed  to  finding  that 
thesis  put  forward  as   certain,  will  become  familiarised 


PREFACE. 


with  it,  will  suppose  that  no  one  disputes  it.  This  in 
itself  will  tend  to  withhold  men  from  any  serious  return 
upon  their  own  minds  in  the  matter.  Meanwhile  the 
day  will  most  certainly  arrive,  when  the  great  body  of 
liberal  opinion  in  this  country  will  adhere  to  the  first  half 
of  the  doctrine  of  Continental  liberals  ; — will  admit  that 
traditionary  religion  is  utterly  untenable.  And  the  danger 
is,  that  from  the  habits  of  their  minds,  and  from  seeing 
the  thing  treated  as  certain,  and  from  hearing  nothing 
urged  against  it,  our  liberals  may  admit  as  indisputable 
the  second  half  of  the  doctrine  too :  that  Christianity, 
also,  is  untenable. 

And  therefore  is  it  so  all-important  to  insist  on  what 
I  call  the  natural  truth  of  Christianity,  and  to  bring  this 
out  all  we  can.  Liberal  opinion  tends,  as  we  have  seen, 
to  treat  traditional  religion  and  Christianity  as  identical ; 
if  one  is  unsound,  so  is  the  other.  Especially,  how-  ' 
ever,  does  liberal  opinion  show  this  tendency  among  the 
Latin  nations,  on  whom  Protestantism  did  not  lay  hold  ; 
and  it  shows  it  most  among  those  Latin  nations  of 
whom  Protestantism  laid  hold  least,  such  as  Italy  and 
Spain.  For  Protestantism  was  undoubtedly,  whatever- 
may  have  been  its  faults  and  miscarriages,  an  assertion  of 
the  natural  truth  of  Christianity  for  the  mind  and  con- 


PREFACE.  XV 


science  of  men.  The  question  is,  whether  Christianity 
has  this  natural  truth  or  not.  It  is  a  question  of  fact. 
In  the  end  the  victory  belongs  to  facts,  and  he  who 
contradicts  them  finds  that  he  runs  his  head  against  a 
wall.  Our  traditional  religion  turns  out  not  to  have, 
in  fact,  natural  truth,  the  only  truth  which  can  stand. 
The  miracles  of  our  traditional  religion,  like  other 
miracles,  did  not  happen  ;  its  metaphysical  proofs  of  God 
are  mere  words.  Has  or  has  not  Christianity,  in  fact,  the 
same  want  of  natural  truth  as  our  traditional  religion  ?  It 
is  a  question  of  immense  importance.  Of  questions 
about  religion,  it  may  be  said  to  be  at  the  present  time, 
for  a  serious  man,  the  only  important  one. 

Now,  whoever  seeks  to  show  the  natural  truth  of  a 
thing  which  professes  to  be  for  general  use,  ought  to  try 
to  be  as  simple  as  possible.  He  ought  not  to  allow  him- 
self to  have  any  recourse  either  to  intellectual  refine- 
ments or  to  sentimental  rhetoric.  And  therefore  it  is 
well  to  start,  in  bringing  out  the  truth  of  Christianity, 
with  a  plain  proposition  such  as  everybody,  one  would 
think,  must  admit :  the  proposition  that  conduct  is  a 
very  important  matter.  I  have  called  conduct  three- 
fourths  of  life.  M,  Challemel-Lacour  quarrels  greatly 
with  the  proposition.    Certainly  people  in  general  do  not 


xvi  PREFACE. 

behave  as  if  they  were  convinced  that  conduct  is  three- 
fourths  of  Hfe.  Butler  well  «ays  that  even  religious  people 
are  always  for  j)lacing  the  stress  of  their  religion  anywhere 
other  than  on  virtue  j — virtue  being  simply  the  good 
direction  of  conduct.  We  know,  too,  that  the  Italians 
at  the  Renascence  changed  the  very  meaning  of  the 
word  virtue  altogether,  and  made  their  virtu  mean  a 
love  of  the  fine  arts  and  of  intellectual  culture.  And  we 
see  the  fruits  of  the  new  definition  in  the  Italy  of  the  - 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  We  will  not, 
then,  there  being  all  this  opposition,  offer  to  settle  the 
exact  proportion  of  life  which  conduct  may  be  said  to 
be.  But  that  conduct  is,  at  any  rate,  a  very  con- 
siderable part  of  life,  will  generally  be  admitted. 

It  will  generally  be  admitted,  too,  that  all  experience 
as  to  conduct  brings  us  at  last  to  the  fact  of  two  selves, 
or  instincts,  or  forces, — name  them  how  we  will,  and  how- 
ever we  may  suppose  them  to  have  arisen, — contending 
for  the  mastery  in  man  :  one,  a  movement  of  first  impulse 
and  more  involuntary,  leading  us  to  gratify  any  inclination 
that  may  solicit  us,  and  called  generally  a  movement  of 
man's  ordinary  or  passing  self,  of  sense,  appetite,  desire  \ 
the  other,  a  movement  of  reflexion  and  more  voluntary, 
leading  us  to  submit  inclination  to  some  rule,  and  called 


PREFACE.  xvii 

generally  a  movement  of  man's  higher  or  enduring  self,  of 
reason,  spirit,  will.  The  thing  is  described  in  different 
words  by  different  nations  and  men  relating  their  expe- 
rience of  it,  but  as  to  the  thing  itself  they  all,  or  all  the 
most  serious  and  important  among  them,  agree.  This, 
I  think,  will  be  admitted.  Nor  will  it  be  denied  that 
they  all  come  to  the  conclusion  that  for  a  man  to  obey  the 
higher  self,  or  reason,  or  whatever  it  is  to  be  called,  is 
happiness  and  life  for  him ;  to  obey  the  lower  is  death 
and  misery.  It  will  be  allowed,  again,  that  whatever 
men's  minds  are  to  fasten  and  rest  upon,  whatever  is  to 
hold  their  attention  and  to  rule  their  practice,  naturally 
embodies  itself  for  them  in  certain  examples,  precepts, 
and  sayings,  to  which  they  perpetually  recur.  Without  a 
frame  or  body  of  this  kind,  a  set  of  thoughts  cannot  abide 
with  men  and  sustain  them.  ^  If  ye  abide  in  me,'  says 
Jesus,  '  ye  shall  know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make 
you  free  ; ' — not  if  you  keep  skipping  about  all  over  the 
world  for  various  renderings  of  it.  '  It  behoves  us  to 
know,'  says  Epictetus, '  that  a  principle  can  hardly  establish 
itself  with  a  man,  unless  he  every  day  utters  the  same  things, 
hears  the  same  things,  and  applies  them  withal  to  his 
life.'     And  naturally  the  body  of  examples  and  precepts, 


PREFACE. 


which  men  should  use  for  this  purpose,  ought  to  be  those 
which  most  impressively  represent  the  principle,  or  the 
set  of  thoughts,  commending  itself  to  their  minds  for 
respect  and  attention.  And  the  more  the  precepts  are 
used,  the  more  will  men's  sentiments  cluster  around 
them,  and  the  more  dear  and  solemn  will  they  be. 

Now  to  apply  this  to  Christianity.  It  is  evident  that 
to  what  they  called  righteoiLsness, — a  name  which  covers 
all  that  we  mean  by  conduct, — the  Jewish  nation  attached 
pre-eminent,  unique  importance.  This  impassioned 
testimony  of  theirs  to  the  weight  of  a  thing  admittedly 
of  very  considerable  importance,  has  its  own  value  of  a 
special  kind.  But  it  is  well  known  how  imperfectly  and 
amiss  the  Jewish  nation  conceived  righteousness.  And 
finally,  when  their  misconceived  righteousness  failed 
them  in  actual  life  more  and  more,  they  took  refuge  in 
imaginings  about  the  future,  and  filled  themselves  with 
hopes  of  a  kingdom  of  God,  a  resu7'rectioii,  a  judgment, 
an  eternal  life,  bringing  in  and  establishing  for  ever  this 
misconceived  righteousness  of  theirs.  As  God's  agent 
in  this  work  of  restoring  the  kingdom  to  Israel  they 
promised  to  themselves  an  Anointed  and  Chosen  One, 
Christ  the  son  of  God} 

1  John,   XX,   31. 


PREFACE. 


Jesus  Christ  found,  when  he  came  among  his 
countrymen,  all  these  phrases  and  ideas  ruling  their 
minds.  Conduct  or  righteousness,  a  matter  admittedly 
of  very  considerable  importance,  and  which  the  Jews 
thought  of  paramount  importance,  they  had  come 
entirely  to  misconceive,  and  had  created  an  immense 
poetry  of  hopes  and  imaginings  in  favour  of  their  mis- 
conception. What  did  Jesus  do?  From  his  country- 
men's errors  about  righteousness  he  reverted  to  the  solid, 
authentic,  universal  fact  of  experience  about  it  :  the 
fact  of  the  higher  and  lower  self  in  man,  inheritors  the 
one  of  them  of  happiness,  the  other  of  misery.  He  pos- 
sessed himself  of  it,  he  made  it  the  centre  of  his  teaching. 
He  made  it  so  in  the  well-known  formula,  his  seci-et  : 
*  He  that  will  save  his  life  shall  lose  it ;  he  that  do  love 
his  life  shall  save  it'  And  by  his  admirable  figure  of  the 
two  lives  of  man,  the  real  life  and  the  seeming  life,  he 
connected  this  profound  fact  of  experience  with  that 
attractive  poetry  of  hopes  and  imaginings  which  possessed 
the  minds  of  his  countrymen.  Eternal  life?  Yes,  the  life 
in  the  higher  and  undying  self  of  man.  Judgment  ?  Yes, 
the  trying,  in  conscience,  of  the  claims  and  instigations 
of  the  two  lives,  and  the  decision  between  them.  Re- 
surrection?    Yes,   the  rising  from    bondage  and  tran- 


PREFACE. 


sience  ^^ith  the  lower  life  to  victory  and  permanence 
with  the  higher.  The  kingdom  of  God  ?  Yes,  the  reign 
amongst  mankind  of  the  higher  life.  The  Christ  the  son 
of  God  ?  Yes,  the  bringer-in  and  founder  of  this  reign 
of  the  higher  life,  this  true  kingdom  of  God. 

But  we  can  go  farther.  Observers  say, '  with  much 
appearance  of  truth,  that  all  our  passions  may  be  run  up 
into  two  elementary  instincts  :  the  reproductive  instinct 
and  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.  It  is  evident  to 
what  these  instincts  will  in  themselves  carry  the  man 
who  follows  the  lower  self  of  sense,  and  appetite,  and  first 
impulse.  It  is  evident,  also,  that  they  are  directly  con- 
trolled by  two  forces  which  Christianity, — following  that 
law  of  the  higher  life  which  St.  Paul  names  indifferently 
the  law  of  God,  the  lazu  of  otir  mind,  the  line  of  thought 
of  the  spirit  ^ — has  set  up  as  its  two  grand  virtues  :  kind- 
ness and  pureness,  charity  and  chastity.  If  any  virtues 
could  stand  for  the  whole  of  Christianity,  these  might. 
Let  us  have  them  from  the  mouth  of  Jesus  Christ  himself. 
*  He  that  loveth  his  life  shall  lose  it ;  a  new  command- 
ment give  I  unto  you  that  ye  love  one  another'  There  is 
charity.  '  Blest  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  they  shall  see 
God.'     There  is  purity. 

'  (po6t/r]ixa  Tov  irvevixaTOs. 


PREFACE. 


We  go  here  simply  on  experience,  having  to  estabHsh 
the  natural  truth  of  Christianity.  That  the  '  new  com- 
mandment '  of  charity  is  enjoined  by  the  Bible,  gives  it 
therefore,  we  shall  suppose,  no  force  at  all,  unless  it  turns 
out  to  be  enjoined  also  by  experience.  And  it  is  enjoined 
by  experience  if  experience  shows  that  it  is  necessary  to 
human  happiness, — that  men  cannot  get  on  without  it. 
Now  really  if  there  is  a  lesson  which  in  our  day  has 
come  to  force  itself  upon  everybody,  in  all  quarters  and 
by  all  channels,  it  is  the  lesson  of  the  solidarity,  as  it  is 
called  by  modern  philosophers,  of  men.  If  there  was  ever 
a  notion  tempting  to  common  human  nature,  it  was  the 
notion  that  the  rule  of  '  every  man  for  himself  was  the 
rule  of  happiness.  But  at  last  it  turns  out  as  a  matter  of 
experience,  and  so  plainly  that  it  is  coming  to  be  even 
generally  admitted, — it  turns  out  that  the  only  real  happi- 
ness is  in  a  kind  of  impersonal  higher  life,  where  the 
happiness  of  others  counts  with  a  man  as  essential  to 
his  own.  He  that  loves  his  life  does  really  turn  out  to 
lose  it,  and  the  new  commandment  proves  its  own  truth 
by  experience. 

And  the  other  great  Christian  virtue,  pureness? 
Here  the  case  is  somewhat  different.  One  hears  doubts 
raised,  nowadays,  as  to  the  natural  truth  of  this  virtue. 


xxii  PREFACE. 


While  science  has  adopted,  as  a  truth  confirmed  by  ex- 
perience, the  Christian  idea  of  charity,  long  supposed  to 
conflict  with  experience,  and  has  decked  it  out  with  the 
grand  title  of  human  solidarity^  one  may  hear  many  doubts 
thrown,  in  the  name  of  science  and  reason,  on  the  truth 
and  validity  of  the  Christian  idea  of  pureness.  As 
a  mere  commandment  this  virtue  cannot  have  the 
authority  which  it  once  had,  for  the  notion  of  coffimand- 
ments  in  this  sense  is  giving  way.  And  on  its  natural 
truth,  when  the  thing  comes  to  be  tested  by  experience, 
doubts  are  thrown.  Well,  experience  must  decide.  It  is 
a  question  of  fact.  '  There  is  no  honest  woman  who  is 
not  sick  of  her  trade,'  says  La  Rochefoucauld.  '  I  pass 
for  having  enjoyed  life,'  said  Ninon  in  old  age,  '  but  if 
anyone  had  told  me  beforehand  what  my  life  was  going 
to  be  I  would  have  hanged  myself  Who  is  right?  On 
which  side  is  nattiral  truth  ?  It  will  be  admitted  that 
there  can  hardly  be  a  more  vital  question  for  human 
society.  And  those  who  doubt  on  which  side  is  natural 
truth,  and  who  raise  the  question,  will  have  to  learn  by 
experience.  But  finely  touched  souls  have  a  presenti- 
ment of  a  thing's  natural  truth  even  though  it  be  ques- 
tioned, and  long  before  the  palpable  proof  by  experience 
convinces  all  the  world.     They  have  it  quite  indepen- 


PREFACE. 


dently  of  their  attitude  towards  traditional  religion. 
'  May  the  idea  of  pureness,  extending  itself  to  the  very 
morsel  which  I  take  into  my  mouth,  grow  ever  clearer 
in  me  and  clearer ! '  *  So  prayed  Goethe.  And  all  such 
well- inspired  souls  will  perceive  the  profound  natural 
truth  of  the  idea  of  pureness,  and  will  be  sure,  there- 
fore, that  the  more  boldly  it  is  challenged,  the  more 
sharply  and  signally  will  experience  mark  its  truth.  So 
that  of  the  two  great  Christian  virtues,  charity  and 
chastity,  kindness  and  pureness,  the  one  has  at  this  mo- 
ment the  most  signal  testimony  from  experience  to  its 
intrinsic  truth  and  weight,  and  the  other  is  expecting  it. 

All  this  may  enable  us  to  understand  how  admirably 
fitted  are  Jesus  Christ  and  his  precepts  to  serve  as  man- 
kind's standing  reminder  as  to  conduct, — to  serve  as 
men's  religion.  Jesus  Christ  and  his  precepts  are  found 
to  hit  the  moral  experience  of  mankind,  to  hit  it  in  the 
critical  points,  to  hit  it  lastingly ;  and,  when  doubts  are 
thrown  upon  their  really  hitting  it,  then  to  come  out 
stronger  than  ever.  And  we  know  how  Jesus  Christ  and 
his  precepts  won  their  way  from  the  very  first,  and  soon 
became  the  religion  of  all  that  part  of  the  world  which 

'  *  Moge  die  Idee  des  Reinen,  die  sich  auf  den  Bissen  erstreckt 
den  ich  in  den  Mund  nehme,  immer  lichter  in  mir  werden  ! ' 


PREFACE. 


most  counted,  and  are  now  the  religion  of  all  that  part 
of  the  world  which  most  counts.  This  they  certainly 
in  great  part  owed,  even  from  the  first,  to  that  instinctive 
sense  of  their  natural  fitness  for  such  a  service,  of 
their  natural  truth  and  weight,  which  amidst  all  mis- 
apprehensions of  them  they  inspired. 

Moreover,  we  must  always  keep  in  sight  one  specially 
important  element  in  the  power  exercised  by  Jesus 
Christ  and  his  precepts.  And  that  is,  the  impression 
left  by  Jesus  of  what  we  call  siucet  reason  in  the  highest 
degree  ;  of  consummate  justness  in  what  he  said,  perfect 
balance,  unerring  felicity.  For  this  impression  has  been 
a  great  element  of  progress.  It  made  half  the  charm  of 
the  religion  of  Jesus  in  the  first  instance,  and  it  makes  it 
still.  But  it  also  serves  in  an  admirable  way  against  the 
misapprehensions  with  which  men  received,  as  we  have 
said,  and  could  not  but  receive,  tlie  natural  truth  he  gave 
them,  and  which  they  made  up  along  with  that  truth  into 
their  religion.  For  it  is  felt  that  anything  exaggerated, 
distorted,  false,  cannot  be  from  Jesus  ;  that  it  must  be 
human  perversion  of  him.  There  is  always  an  appeal 
open,  and  a  return  possible,  to  the  acknowledged  sweet 
reason  of  Jesus,  to  his  '  grace  and  truth.'  And  thus 
Christians,  instead  of  sticking  for  ever  because  of  their 


PREFACE. 


religion  to  errors  which  they  themselves  have  put  into 
their  religion,  find  in  their  religion  itself  a  ground  for 
breaking  with  them.  For  example  :  medieval  charity  and 
medieval  chastity  are  manifestly  misgrowths,  however 
natural, — misgrowths  unworkable  and  dangerous, — of  the 
ideas  of  kindness  and  pureness.  Then  they  cannot 
have  come  from  Jesus ;  they  cannot  be  what  Jesus 
meant.  Such  is  the  inevitable  inference  ;  and  Christian- 
ity here  touches  a  spring  for  self-correction  and  self- 
readjustment  which  is  of  the  highest  value. 

And,  finally,  the  figure  and  sayings  of  Jesus,  embodying 
and  representing  men's  moral  experience  to  them,  serv- 
ing them  as  a  perpetual  reminder  of  it,  by  a  fixed  form 
of  words  and  observances  holding  their  attention  to  it, 
and  thus  attaching  them,  have  attracted  to  themselves,  by 
the  very  force  of  time,  and  use,  and  association,  a  mass 
of  additional  attachment,  and  a  host  of  sentiments  the 
most  tender  and  profound. 

This,  then,  is  what  we  mean  by  saying  that  Christianity 
has  natural  truth.  By  this  tmth  things  must  stand,  not 
by  people's  wishes  and  asseverations  about  them. 
Omnium  Dens  est^  mjus,  veli??itis  aut  nolimus,  07nnes 
sumus,  says  TertuUian.  '  The  God  of  all  of  us  is  the 
God  that  we  all  belong  to  whether  we  will  or  no.'     The 


PREFACE. 


Eternal  that  makes  for  righteousness  is  such  a  God  ;  and 
he  is  the  God  of  Christianity.  Jesus  explains  what  this 
God  would  have  of  us  ;  and  the  strength  of  Jesus  is  that 
he  explains  it  right.  The  natural  experimental  truth  of 
his  explanations  is  their  one  claim  upon  us  ;  but  this  is 
claim  enough.  Does  the  thing,  being  admittedly  most 
important,  turn  out  to  be  as  he  says  ?  If  it  does,  then  we 
*  belong  to  him  whether  we  will  or  no.' 

A  recent  German  ^vriter,  wishing  to  exalt  Schopen- 
hauer at  the  expense  of  Jesus,  says  that  both  Jesus  and 
Schopenhauer  taught  the  true  doctrine  of  self-renounce- 
ment, but  that  Schopenhauer  faced  the  pessimism  which 
is  that  doctrine's  natural  accompaniment,  whereas  Jesus 
sought  to  escape  from  it  by  the  dream  of  a  paradise  to 
come.  This  critic  credits  Jesus,  as  usual,  with  the 
very  misconceptions  against  which  he  strove.  It  was 
the  effort  of  Jesus  to  place  the  bliss,  the  eternal  life  of 
popular  religion,  not  where  popular  religion  placed 
it,  in  a  fantastic  paradise  to  come,  but  in  the  joy  of  self- 
renouncement.  This  was  the  '  eternal  life '  of  Jesus  ; 
this  was  his  'joy;' — the  joy  which  he  desired  that  his 
disciples,  too,  might  have  full  and  complete,  might 
have  *  fulfilled  in  themselves.'  His  depth,  his  truth,  his 
rightness,  come  out  in  this  very  point :  that  he  saw  that 


PREFACE.  xxvii 

self-renouncement  is  joy,  and  that  human  life,  in  which  it 
takes  place,  is  therefore  a  blessing  and  a  benefit.  And 
just  exactly  here  is  his  superiority  to  Schopenhauer. 
Jesus  hits  the  plain  natural  truth  that  human  life  is  a 
blessing  and  a  benefit,  while  Schopenhauer  misses  it. 
'  It  is  evident,  even  a  priori,  that  the  world  is  doomed  to 
evil,  and  that  it  is  the  domain  of  irrationality.  In  absti- 
nence from  the  further  propagation  of  mankind  is  salvation. 
This  would  gradually  bring  about  the  extinction  of  our 
species,  and,  with  our  extinction,  that  of  the  universe,  since 
the  universe  requires  for  its  existence  the  co-operation 
of  human  thought.'  The  fault  of  this  sort  of  thing  is, 
that  it  is  plainly,  somehow  or  other,  a  paradox,  and  that 
human  thought  (I  say  it  with  due  deference  to  the 
many  persons  for  whom  Schopenhauer  is  just  now  in 
fashion)  instinctively  feels  it  to  be  absurd.  Th^fact  is 
with  Jesus.  'The  Eternal  is  king,  the  earth  may  be 
glad  thereof  Human  life  is  a  blessing  and  a  benefit,  and 
constantly  improvable,  because  in  self-renouncement  is  a 
fount  of  joy,  'springing  up  unto  everlasting  life.'  Not 
only,  '  It  is  more  right  to  give  than  to  receive,'  more 
rational,  more  necessary;  but,  '  It  is  more  blessed  to  give 
than  to  receive.' 

i:\iQfact,  I  say,  the  real  fact,  is  what  it  imports  us 


xxviii  PREFACE. 


to  reach.  A  writer  of  remarkable  knowledge,  judgment, 
and  impartiality,  M.  Maurice  Vernes,  of  the  Revue  Scienfi- 
fique,  objects  to  the  contrast  of  an  earlier  intuition  of 
Israel,  Righteousness  tendeth  to  life,  the  righteous  is  an 
eve7'lasting  foundation,  with  a  later  '  Aberglaube,'  such  as 
we  find  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  and  such  as  Jesus  had 
to  deal  with.  He  objects  to  the  contrast  of  the  doctrine 
of  Jesus  with  the  metaphysics  of  the  Church.  M.  Mau- 
rice Vernes  is  one  of  those,  of  whom  there  are  so  many, 
who  have  a  philosophical  system  of  history, — a  history 
ruled  by  the  law  of  progress,  of  evolution.  Between  the 
eighth  century  before  our  era  and  the  second,  the  law  of 
evolution  must  have  been  at  work.  Progress  must  have 
gone  on.  Therefore  the  Messianic  ideas  of  the  Book  of 
Daniel  must  be  a  higher  stage  than  the  ideas  of  the 
great  prophets  and  wise  men  of  the  eighth  and  ninth 
centuries.  Again.  The  importation  of  metaphysics  into 
Christianity  means  the  arrival  of  Greek  thought.  Western 
thought, — the  enrichment  of  the  early  Christian  thought 
with  new  elements.  This  is  evolution,  development. 
And  therefore,  apparently,  the  Athanasian  Creed  must 
be  a  higher  stage  than  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

Let  us  salute  with  respect  that  imposing  generality, 
the  law  of  evolution.     But  let  us  remember  that,  in  each 


PREFACE. 


particular  case  which  comes  before  us,  what  concerns  us 
is,  surely,  the  fact  as  to  that  particular  case.  And 
surely,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  ideas  of  the  great  pro- 
phets and  wise  men  of  the  eighth  or  ninth  century 
before  Christ  are  profounder  and  more  true  than  the 
ideas  of  the  eschatologist  of  the  Book  of  Daniel.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  again,  the  ideas  of  Jesus  in  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount  are  surely  profounder  and  more  true 
than  the  ideas  of  the  theologian  of  the  Athanasian 
Creed.  Ins  and  outs  of  this  kind  may  settle  their 
business  with  the  general  law  of  evolution  as  they  can ; 
but  our  business  is  with  the  fact.  And  the  fact,  surely, 
is  here  as  we  have  stated  it. 

M.  Vernes  further  objects  to  our  picking  and  choos- 
ing among  the  records  of  Jesus,  and  pronouncing  that 
whatever  suits  us  shall  be  held  to  come  from  Jesus,  and 
whatever  does  not  suit  us  from  his  reporters.  But  here, 
again,  it  is  a  question  of  fact; — a  question,  which  of 
two  things  is,  in  fact,  more  likely  ?  Is  it,  in  fact,  more 
likely  that  Jesus,  being  what  we  can  see  from  certain  of 
the  data  about  him  that  he  was,  should  have  been  in 
many  points  misunderstood  and  misrepresented  by  his 
followers  ;  or  that,  being  what  by  those  data  he  was,  he 
should  also  have  been  at  the  same  time  the  thaumajtur- 

\ 


XXX  PREFACE. 

'  gical  personage  that  his  followers  imagined  ?    The  more 
reasonable  Jesus  is  likewise,  surely,  the  more  real  one. 

I  believe,  then,  that  the  real  God,  the  real  Jesus,  \\all 
continue  to  command  allegiance,  because  we  do,  in  fact, 
*  belong  to  them.'  I  believe  that  Christianity  will  survive 
because  of  its  natural  truth.  Those  who  fancied  that  they 
had  done  with  it,  those  who  had  thrown  it  aside  because 
what  was  presented  to  them  under  its  name  was  so  unre- 
ceivable,  mil  have  to  return  to  it  again,  and  to  learn  it 
better.  The  Latin  nations, — even  the  southern  Latin 
nations, — will  have  to  acquaint  themselves  with  that 
fundamental  document  of  Christianity,  the  Bible,  and  to 
discover  wherein  it  differs  from  '  a  text  of  Hesiod.'  Nei- 
ther will  the  old  forms  of  Christian  worship  be  extin- 
guished by  the  growth  of  a  truer  conception  of  their 
essential  contents.  Those  forms,  thrown  out  at  dimly- 
grasped  truth,  approximative  and  provisional  represen- 
tations of  it,  and  which  are  now  surrounded  with  such  an 
atmosphere  of  tender  and  profound  sentiment  will  not  dis- 
appear. They  will  survive  as  poetry.  Above  all,  among 
the  Catholic  nations  will  this  be  the  case.  And,  indeed, 
one  must  wonder  at  the  fatuity  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
Chifrch,  that  she  should  not  herself  see  what  a  future 
thei-e   is   for  her  here.     Will  there  never  arise   among 


PREFACE. 


Catholics  some  great  soul,  to  perceive  that  the  eternity 
and  universality,  which  is  vainly  claimed  for  Catholic 
dogma  and  the  ultramontane  system,  might  really  be 
possible  for  Catholic  worship?  But  to  rule  over  the 
moment  and  the  credulous  has  more  attraction  than  to 
work  for  the  future  and  the  sane. 

Christianity,  however,  will  find  the  ways  for  its  own 
future.  What  is  certain  is  that  it  will  not  disappear. 
Whatever  progress  may  be  made  in  science,  art,  and 
literary  culture, — however  much  higher,  more  general,  and 
more  effective  than  at  present  the  value  for  them  may 
become,- -Christianity  will  be  still  there  as  what  these 
rest  against  and  imply  \  as  the  indispensable  background, 
the  three-fourths  of  life.  It  is  true,  while  the  remaining 
ourth  is  ill-cared  for,  the  three-fourths  themselves  must 
also  suffer  with  it.  But  this  does  but  bring  us  to  the 
old  and  true  Socratic  thesis  of  the  interdependence  of 
virtue  and  knowledge.  And  we  cannot,  then,  do  better 
than  conclude  with  some  excellent  words  of  Mr.  Jowett, 
doing  homage,  in  the  preface  introducing  his  translation 
of  Plato's  Protagoras,  to  that  famous  thesis.  '  This  ic  an 
aspect  of  the  truth  which  was  lost  almost  as  soon  as 
it  was  found;   and   yet  has   to   be  recovered  by  every 

b 


PREFACE. 


one  for  himself  who  would  pass  the  limits  of  proverbial 
and  popular  pliilosophy.  The  moral  and  intellectual 
are  always  dividing,  yet  they  must  be  reunited,  and  in 
the  highest  conception  of  them  are  inseparable.' 


CONTENTS. 


I'AGE 

A  Psychological  Parallel i 

Bishop  Butler  and  the  Zeit-Geisi-      ...      62 

The  Church  of  England 149 

A  Last  Word  on  the  Burials  Bill     .        .        .189 


A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

Whoever  has  to  impugn  the  soundness  of  popular  theo- 
logy will  most  certainly  find  parts  in  his  task  which  are 
unwelcome  and  painful.  Other  parts  in  it,  however,  are 
full  of  reward.  And  none  more  so  than  those,  in  which 
the  work  to  be  done  is  positive,  not  negative,  and  unit- 
ing, not  dividing  ;  in  which  what  survives  in  Christianity 
is  dwelt  upon,  not  what  perishes  ;  and  what  offers  us 
points  of  contact  with  the  religion  of  the  community, 
rather  than  motives  for  breaking  wiih  it.  Popular  reli- 
gion is  too  forward  to  employ  arguments  Avhich  may  well 
be  called  arguments  of  despair.  '  Take  me  in  the  lump,'  it 
cries,  '  or  give  up  Christianity  altogether.  Construe  the 
Bible  as  I  do,  or  renounce  my  public  worship  and  solem- 
nities ;  renounce  all  communion  with  me,  as  an  imposture 
and  falsehood  on  your  part.  Quit,  as  weak-minded, 
deluded  blunderers,  all  those  doctors  and  lights  of  the 
Church  who  have  long  served  you,  aided  you,  been  dear 
to  you.  Those  teachers  set  forth  what  are,  in  your 
opinion,  errors,  and  go  on  grounds  which  you  believe  to 

B 


2  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

be  hollow.  Whoever  thinks  as  you  do,  ought,  if  he  is 
courageous  and  consistent,  to  trust  such  blind  guides  no 
more,  but  to  remain  staunch  by  his  new  lights  and  him- 
self.' 

It  happens,  I  suppose,  to  most  people  w^ho  treat  an 
interesting  subject,  and  it  happens  to  me,  to  receive  from 
those  whom  the  subject  interests,  and  who  may  have  in 
general  followed  one's  treatment  of  it  with  sympathy, 
avowals  of  difficulty  upon  certain  points,  requests  for 
explanation.  But  the  discussion  of  a  subject,  more  espe- 
cially of  a  religious  subject,  may  easily  be  pursued  longer 
than  is  advisable.  On  the  immense  difference  which 
there  seems  to  me  to  be  between  the  popular  conception 
of  Christianity  and  the  true  conception  of  it,  I  have  said 
what  I  wished  to  say.  I  wished  to  say  it,  pardy  in  order 
to  aid  those  whom  the  popular  conception  embarrassed  ; 
partly  because,  having  frequently  occasion  to  assert  the 
truth  and  importance  of  Christianity  against  those  who 
disparaged  them,  I  was  bound  in  honesty  to  make  clear 
what  sort  of  Christianity  I  meant.  But  having  said,  how- 
ever imperfectly,  what  I  wished,  I  leave,  and  am  glad  to 
leave,  a  discussion  where  the  hope  to  do  good  must 
always  be  mixed  with  an  apprehension  of  doing  harm. 
Only,  in  leaving  it,  I  will  conclude  with  what  cannot,  one 
may  hope,  do  harm  :  an  endeavour  to  dispel  some  diffi- 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  3 

culties  raised  by   the  arguments  of  despah',   as    I   have 
called  them,  of  popular  religion. 

I  have  formerly  spoken  at  much  length  of  the  writ- 
ings of  St.  Paul,  pointing  out  what  a  clue  he  gives  us  to 
the  right  understanding  of  the  word  resiwredion^  the 
great  word  of  Christianity ;  and  how  he  deserves,  on  this 
account,  our  special  interest  and  study.  It  is  the  spiri- 
tual resurrection  of  which  he  is  thus  the  instructive  ex- 
pounder to  us.  But  undoubtedly  he  believed  also  in  the 
miracle  of  the  physical  resurrection,  both  of  Jesus  himself 
and  for  mankind  at  large.  This  belief  those  who  do  not 
admit  the  miraculous  will  not  share  with  him.  And  one 
who  does  not  admit  the  miraculous,  but  who  yet  had 
continued  to  think  St.  Paul  worthy  of  all  honour  and  his 
teaching  full  of  instruction,  brings  forward  to  me  a  sen- 
tence from  an  eloquent  and  most  popular  author,  wherein 
it  is  said  that  '  St.  Paul — surely  no  imbecile  or  credulous 
enthusiast — vouches  for  the  reality  of  the  (physical)  re- 
surrection, of  the  appearances  of  Jesus  after  it,  and  of  his 
own  vision.  Must  then  St.  Paul,  he  asks,  if  he  was  mis- 
taken in  thus  vouching, — which  whoever  does  not  admit 
the  miraculous  cannot  but  suppose, — of  necessity  be  an 
'  imbecile  and  credulous  enthusiast,'  and  his  words  and 
character  of  no  more  value  to  us  than  those  of  that  slight 
sort   of  people?     And   again,    my  questioner  finds  the 


4  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL. 

same  author  saying,  that  to  suppose  St.  Paul  and  the 
Evangehsts  mistaken  about  the  miracles  which  they 
allege,  is  to  '  insinuate  that  the  faith  of  Christendom  was 
founded  on  most  facile  and  reprehensible  credulity,  and 
this  in  men  who  have  taught  the  spirit  of  truthfulness  as  a 
primary  duty  of  the  religion  which  they  preached.'  And 
he  inquires  whether  St.  Paul  and  the  Evangelists,  in  ad- 
mitting the  miraculous,  were  really  founding  the  faith  of 
Christendom  on  most  facile  and  reprehensible  credulity, 
and  were  false  to  the  spirit  of  truthfulness  taught  by  them- 
selves as  the  primary  duty  of  the  religion  which  they 
preached. 

Let  me  answer  by  putting  a  parallel  case.  The  argu- 
ment is  that  St.  Paul,  by  believing  and  asserting  the 
reality  of  the  physical  resurrection  and  subsequent  ap- 
pearances of  Jesus,  proves  himself,  supposing  those 
alleged  facts  not  to  have  happened,  an  imbecile  or  credu- 
lous enthusiast,  and  an  unprofitable  guide.  St.  Paul's 
vision  we  need  not  take  into  account,  because  even  those 
who  do  not  admit  the  miraculous  will  readily  admit  that 
he  had  his  vision,  only  they  say  it  is  to  be  explained 
naturally.  But  they  do  not  admit  the  reality  of  the  phy- 
sical resurrection  of  Jesus  and  of  his  appearances  after- 
wards, while  yet  they  must  own  that  St.  Paul  did.  The 
question  is,  does  either  the  belief  of  these  things  by  a 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  5 

man  of  signal  truthfulness,  judgment,  and  mental  power 
in  St.  Paul's  circumstances,  prove  them  to  have  really 
happened  ;  or  does  his  believing  them,  in  spite  of  their  not 
having  really  happened,  prove  that  he  cannot  have  been 
a  man  of  great  truthfulness,  judgment,  and  mental  power  ? 
Undeniably  St.  Paul  was  mistaken  about  the  immi- 
nence of  the  end  of  the  world.  But  this  was  a  matter  of 
expectation,  not  experience.  If  he  was  mistaken  about  a 
grave  fact  alleged  to  have  already  positively  happened, 
such  as  the  bodily  resurrection  of  Jesus,  he  must,  it  is 
argued,  have  been  a  credulous  and  imbecile  enthusiast. 

2. 
I  have  already  mentioned  elsewhere  ^  Sir  Matthew 
Hale's  behef  in  the  reaHty  of  witchcraft.  The  contem- 
porary records  of  this  belief  in  our  own  country  and 
among  our  own  people,  in  a  century  of  great  intellectual 
force  and  achievement,  and  when  the  printing  press  fixed 
and  preserved  the  accounts  of  public  proceedings  to 
which  the  charge  of  witchcraft  gave  rise,  are  of  extraor- 
dinary interest.  They  throw  an  invaluable  light  for  us 
on  the  history  of  the  human  spirit.  I  think  it  is  not  an 
illusion  of  national  self-esteem  to  flatter  ourselves  that 
something  of  the  EngUsh  ^good  nature  and  good  humour ' 
»   God  and  the  Bible,  p.  387. 


6  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

is  not  absent  even  from  these  repulsive  records  ;  that 
from  the  traits  of  infuriated,  infernal  cruelty  which  cha- 
racterise similar  records  elsewhere,  particularly  among  the 
Latin  nations,  they  are  in  a  great  measure  free.  They 
reveal,  too,  beginnings  of  that  revolt  of  good  sense, 
gleams  of  that  reason,  that  criticism,  which  was  presently 
to  disperse  the  long-prevaiHng  belief  in  witchcraft.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  Addison,  though 
he  himself  looks  with  disfavour  on  a  man  who  wholly  dis- 
believes in  ghosts  and  apparitions,  yet  smiles  at  Sir 
Roger  De  Coverley's  beUef  in  witches,  as  a  belief  which 
intelligent  men  had  outgrown,  a  survival  from  times  of 
ignorance.  Nevertheless,  in  1716,  two  women  were 
hanged  at  Huntingdon  for  witchcraft.  But  they  were  the 
last  victims,  and  in  1736  the  penal  statutes  against 
witchcraft  were  repealed.  And  by  the  end  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  the  majority  of  rational  people  had  come 
to  disbeHeve,  not  in  witches  only,  but  in  ghosts  also. 
Incredulity  had  become  the  rule,  credulity  the  exception. 
But  through  the  greater  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century  things  were  just  the  other  way.  Credulity 
about  witchcraft  was  the  rule,  incredulity  the  exception. 
It  is  by  its  all-pervadingness,  its  seemingly  inevitable  and 
natural  character,  that  this  credulity  of  the  seventeenth 
century  is  distinguished  from  modern  growths  which  are 


A    PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  7 

sometimes  compared  with  it.  In  the  addiction  to  what 
is  called  spiritualism,  there  is  something  factitious  and 
artificial.  It  is  quite  easy  to  pay  no  attention  to  spiri- 
tualists and  their  exhibitions  ;  and  a  man  of  serious 
temper,  a  man  even  of  matured  sense,  will  in  general  pay 
none.  He  will  instinctively  apply  Goethe's  excellent 
caution  :  that  we  have  all  of  us  a  nervous  system  which 
can  easily  be  worked  upon,  that  we  are  most  of  us  very 
easily  puzzled,  and  that  it  is  foolish,  by  idly  perplexing 
our  understanding  and  playing  with  our  nervous  system, 
to  titillate  in  ourselves  the  fibre  of  superstition.  Who- 
ever runs  after  our  modern  sorcerers  may  indeed  find 
them.  He  may  make  acquaintance  with  their  new  spiri- 
tual visitants  who  have  succeeded  to  the  old-fashioned 
imps  of  the  seventeenth  century, — to  the  Jarmara,  Ele- 
mauzer.  Sack  and  Sugar,  Vinegar  Tom,  and  Grizzel 
Greedigut,  of  our  trials  for  witchcraft.  But  he  may  also 
pass  his  life  without  troubling  his  head  about  them  and 
their  masters.  In  the  seventeenth  century,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  belief  in  witches  and  their  works  met  a  man  at 
every  turn,  and  created  an  atmosphere  for  his  thoughts 
which  they  could  not  help  feeling.  A  man  who  scouted 
the  belief,  who  even  disparaged  it,  was  called  Sadducee, 
atheist,  and  infidel.  Relations  of  the  conviction  of 
witches  had  their  sharp  word  of  '  condemnation  for  the 


8  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

particular  opinion  of  some  men  who  suppose  there  be 
none  at  all.'  They  had  their  caution  to  him  '  to  take 
heed  how  he  either  despised  the  power  of  God  in  his 
creatures,  or  vilipended  the  subtlety  and  fury  of  the  Devil 
as  God's  minister  of  vengeance.'  The  ministers  of  reli- 
gion took  a  leading  part  in  the  proceedings  against 
witches  ;  the  Puritan  ministers  were  here  particularly 
busy.  Scripture  had  said  :  Thoit.  shalt  not  suffer  a  witch 
to  live.  And,  strange  to  say,  the  poor  creatures  tried  and 
executed  for  witchcraft  appear  to  have  usually  been  them- 
selves firm  believers  in  their  own  magic.  They  confess 
their  compact  with  the  Devil,  and  specify  the  imps,  or 
familiars,  whom  they  have  at  their  disposal.  All  this,  I 
say,  created  for  the  mind  an  atmosphere  from  which  it 
was  hard  to  escape.  Again  and  again  we  hear  of  the 
'  sufticient  justices  of  the  peace  and  discreet  magistrates,' 
of  the  '  persons  of  great  knowledge,'  who  were  satisfied 
with  the  proofs  of  witchcraft  oftered  to  them.  It  is  abun- 
dantly clear  that  to  take  as  solid  and  convincing,  where 
a  witch  was  in  question,  evidence  which  would  now  be 
accepted  by  no  reasonable  man,  was  in  the  seventeenth 
century  quite  compatible  with  truthfulness  of  disposition, 
vigour  of  intelligence,  and  penetrating  judgment  on  other 
matters. 

Certainly  these  three  advantages, — truthfulness  of  dis- 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  9 

position,  vigour  of  intelligence,  and  penetrating  judg- 
ment,— were  possessed  in  a  signal  degree  by  the  famous 
Chief  Justice  of  Charles  the  Second's  reign,  Sir  Matthew 
Hale.  Burnet  notices  the  remarkable  mixture  in  him 
of  sweetness  with  gravity,  so  to  the  three  fore-named 
advantages  we  may  add  gentleness  of  temper.  There  is 
extant  the  report  of  a  famous  trial  for  witchcraft  before 
Sir  Matthew  Hale.^  Two  widows  of  Lowestoft  in  Suffolk, 
named  Rose  Cullender  and  Amy  Duny,  were  tried  before 
him  at  Bury  St.  Edmunds,  at  the  Spring  Assizes  in  1664, 
as  witches.  The  report  was  taken  in  Court  during  the 
trial,  but  w^as  not  published  till  eighteen  years  aftenvards, 
in  1682.  Every  decade,  at  that  time,  saw  a  progressive 
decline  in  the  belief  in  witchcraft.  The  person  who 
published  the  report  was,  however,  a  believer ;  and  he 
considered,  he  tells  us,  that  '  so  exact  a  relation  of  this 
trial  would  probably  give  more  satisfaction  to  a  great 
many  persons,  by  reason  that  it  is  pure  matter  of  fact,  and 
that  evidently  demonstrated,  than  the  arguments  and 
reasons  of  other  very  learned  men  that  probably  may  not 
be  so  intelligible  to  all  readers  ;  especially,  this  being 
held  before  a  judge  whom  for  his  integrity,  learning,  and 
law,  hardly  any  age  either  before  or  since  could  parallel; 

1  Reprinted   in   A   Collection   of  Rare  and   Curious   Tracts  re- 
lating to  Witchcraft.     London,  1838. 


lo  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALI^EL. 

who  not  only  took  a  great  deal  of  pains  and  spent  much 
time  in  this  trial  himself,  but  had  the  assistance  and 
opinion  of  several  other  very  eminent  and  learned 
persons.'  One  of  these  persons  was  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
of  Norwich,  the  author  of  the  Religio  Medici  and  of  the 
book  on  Vulgar  Errors. 

The  relation  of  the  trial  of  Rose  Cullender  and  Amy 
Duny  is  indeed  most  interesting  and  most  instructive, 
because  it  shows  us  so  clearly  how  to  live  in  a  certain 
atmosphere  of  belief  will  govern  men's  conclusions  from 
what  they  see  and  hear.  To  us  who  do  not  believe  in 
witches,  the  evidence  on  which  Rose  Cullender  and  Amy 
Duny  were  convicted  carries  its  own  natural  explanation 
with  it,  and  itself  dispels  the  charge  against  them.  They 
were  accused  of  having  bewitched  a  number  of  children, 
causing  them  to  have  fits,  and  to  bring  up  pins  and  nails. 
Several  of  the  witnesses  were  poor  ignorant  people.  The 
weighty  evidence  in  the  case  was  that  of  Samuel  Pacy,  a 
merchant  of  Lowestoft,  two  of  whose  children,  EHzabeth 
and  Deborah,  of  the  ages  of  eleven  and  nine,  were  said  to 
have  been  bewitched.  The  younger  child  was  too  ill  to 
be  brought  to  the  Assizes,  but  the  elder  was  produced  in 
Court.  Samuel  Pacy,  their  father,  is  described  as  '  a 
man  who  carried  himself  with  much  soberness  during  the 
trial,  from  whom  proceeded  no  words  either  of  passion  or 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  ii 

malice,  though  his  children  were  so  greatly  afflicted.' 
He  deposed  that  his  younger  daughter,  being  lame  and 
without  power  in  her  limbs,  had  on  a  sunshiny  day  in 
October  '  desired  to  be  carried  on  the  east  part  of  the 
house  to  be  set  upon  the  bank  which  looketh  upon  the 
sea.'  While  she  sat  there,  Amy  Duny,  who  as  well  as  the 
other  prisoner  is  shown  by  the  evidence  to  have  been  by 
her  neighbours  commonly  reputed  a  witch,  came  to  the 
house  to  get  some  herrings.  She  was  refused,  and  went 
away  grumbling.  At  the  same  moment  the  child  was 
seized  with  violent  fits.  The  doctor  who  attended  her 
could  not  explain  them.  So  ten  days  afterwards  her 
father,  according  to  his  own  deposition,  '  by  reason  of 
the  circumstances  aforesaid,  and  in  regard  Amy  Duny  is 
a  woman  of  an  ill  fame  and  commonly  reported  to  be  a 
witch  and  a  sorceress,  and  for  that  the  said  child  in  her 
fits  would  cry  out  of  Amy  Duny  as  the  cause  of  her 
malady,  and  that  she  did  affright  her  with  apparitions  of 
her  person,  as  the  child  in  the  interval  of  her  fits  related, 
did  suspect  the  said  Amy  Duny  for  a  witch,  and  charged 
her  with  the  injury  and  wrong  to  his  child,  and  caused 
her  to  be  set  in  the  stocks.'  While  she  was  there,  two 
women  asked  her  the  reason  of  the  illness  of  Mr.  Pacy's 
child.  She  answered  :  '  Mr.  Pacy  keeps  a  great  stir  about 
his  child,  but  let  him  stay  until  he  hath  done  as  much  by 


12  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

his  children  as  I  have  done  by  mine.'  Being  asked  what 
she  had  done  to  hers,  she  repHed  that  '  she  had  been  fain 
to  open  her  child's  mouth  with  a  tap  to  give  it  victuals.' 
Two  days  afterwards  Pacy's  elder  daughter,  Elizabeth, 
was  seized  with  fits  like  her  sister's  ;  '  insomuch  that  they 
could  not  open  her  mouth  to  preserve  her  life  without  the 
help  of  a  tap  which  they  were  obliged  to  use.'  The 
children  in  their  fits  would  cry  out :  '  There  stands  Amy 
Duny '  or  '  Rose  Cullender '  (another  reputed  witch  of 
Lowestoft) ;  and,  when  the  fits  were  over,  would  relate 
how  they  had  seen  Amy  Duny  and  Rose  Cullender  shak- 
ing their  fists  at  them  and  threatening  them.  They  said 
that  bees  or  flies  carried  into  their  mouths  the  pins  and 
nails  which  they  brought  up  in  their  fits.  During  their  ill- 
ness their  father  sometimes  made  them  read  aloud  from 
the  New  Testament.  He  '  observed  that  they  would 
read  till  they  came  to  the  name  oi  Lord,  or  Jcsus^  or 
Christy  and  then  before  they  could  pronounce  either  of  the 
said  words  they  would  suddenly  fall  into  their  fits.  But 
when  they  came  to  the  name  of  Satan  or  Devil  they 
would  clap  their  fingers  upon  the  book,  crying  out : 
"  This  bites,  but  makes  me  speak  right  well."  '  And  when 
their  father  asked  them  why  they  could  not  pronounce 
the  words  Loi'd,  or  J^csiis,  or  Christ,  they  answered  : 
'  Amy  Duny  saith,  I  must  not  use  that  name.' 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  13 

It  seems  almost  an  impertinence  nowadays  to  sup- 
pose, that  any  one  can  require  telling  how  self-explanatory 
all  this  is.  without  recourse  to  witchcraft  and  magic. 
These  poor  rickety  children,  full  of  disease  and  with 
morbid  tricks,  have  their  imagination  possessed-  by  the 
two  famed  and  dreaded  witches  of  their  native  place, 
of  whose  prowess  they  have  heard  tale  after  tale,  whom 
they  have  often  seen  with  their  own  eyes,  whose  presence 
has  startled  one  of  them  in  her  hour  of  suffering,  and 
round  whom  all  those  ideas  of  diabolical  agency,  in 
which  they  have  been  nursed,  converge  and  cluster.  The 
speech  of  the  accused  witch  in  the  stocks  is  the  most 
natural  speech  possible,  and  the  fulfilment  which  her 
words  received  in  the  course  of  Elizabeth  Pacy's  fits  is 
perfectly  natural  also.  However,  Sir  Thomas  Browne 
(who  appears  in  the  report  of  the  trial  as  '  Dr.  Brown, 
of  Norwich,  a  person  of  great  knowledge  'j,  being  desired 
to  give  his  opinion  on  Elizabeth  Pacy's  case  and  that 
of  two  other  children  who  on  similar  evidence  were  said 
to  have  been  bewitched  by  the  accused, — Sir  Thomas 
Browne 

was  clearly  of  opinion  that  the  persons  were  bewitched  ;  and 
said  that  in  Denmark  there  had  been  lately  a  great  discovery 
of  witches,  who  used  the  very  same  way  of  afflicting  persons 
by  conveying  pins  into  them,  and  crooked,  as  these  pins  were. 


14  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

with  needles  and  nails.  And  his  opinion  was  that  the  Devil 
in  such  cases  did  work  upon  the  bodies  of  men  and  women 
upon  a  natural  foundation,  ...  for  he  conceived  that  these 
swooning  fits  were  natural,  and  nothing  else  but  what  they 
call  the  mother,  but  only  heightened  to  a  great  excess  by  the 
subtlety  of  the  Devil,  co-operating  with  the  malice  of  these 
which  we  term  witches,  at  whose  instance  he  doth  these 
villainies. 

That  was  all  the  light  to  be  got  from  the  celebrated 
writer  on  Vulgar  Errors.  Yet  reason,  in  this  trial,  was 
not  left  quite  without  witness  : — 

At  the  hearing  the  evidence,  there  were  divers  known 
persons,  as  Mr.  Serjeant  Keeling,  Mr.  Serjeant  Earl,  and 
Mr.  Serjeant  Bernard,  present.  Mr.  Serjeant  Keeling 
seemed  much  unsatisfied  with  it,  and  thought  it  not  sufficient 
to  convict  the  prisoners  ;  for  admitting  that  the  children  were 
in  truth  bewitched,  yet,  said  he,  it  can  never  be  applied  to  the 
prisoners  upon  the  imagination  only  of  the  parties  afflicted. 
For  if  that  might  be  allowed,  no  person  whatsoever  can  be 
in  Safety  ;  for  perhaps  they  might  fancy  another  person,  who 
might  altogether  be  innocent  in  such  matters. 

In  order,  therefore,  the  better  to  establish  the  guilt 
of  the  prisoners,  they  were  made  to  touch  the  children 
whom  they  were  said  to  have  bewitched.  The  children 
screamed  out  at  their  touch.  The  children  were 
'■  blinded  with  their  own  aprons,'  and  in  this  condition 
were  again  touched  by  Rose  Cullender ;  and  again  they 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  15 

screamed  out.  It  was  objected,  not  that  the  children's 
heads  were  full  of  Rose  Cullender  and  Amy  Duny  and  of 
their  infernal  dealings  with  them,  but  that  the  children 
might  be  counterfeiting  their  malady,  and  pretending  to 
start  at  the  witch's  touch  though  it  had  no  real  power  on 
them : — 

Wherefore,  to  avoid  this  scruple,  it  was  privately  desired 
by  the  judge,  that  the  Lord  Comwallis,  Sir  Edward  Bacon, 
Mr.  Serjeant  Keeling,  and  some  other  gentlemen  then  in 
Court,  would  attend  one  of  the  distempered  persons  in  the 
further  part  of  the  hall,  whilst  she  was  in  her  fits,  and  then 
to  send  for  one  of  the  witches  to  try  what  would  then  happen, 
which  they  did  accordingly.  And  Amy  Duny  was  conveyed 
from  the  bar  and  brought  to  the  maid  ;  they  put  an  apron 
before  her  eyes,  and  then  one  other  person  touched  her  hand, 
which  produced  the  same  effect  as  the  touch  of  the  witch  did 
in  the  Court.  Whereupon  the  gentlemen  returned,  openly 
protesting  that  they  did  believe  the  whole  transaction  of  this 
business  was  a  mere  imposture. 

This,  we  are  told,  'put  the  Court  and  all  persons 
into  a  stand.  But  at  length  Mr.  Pacy  did  declare  that 
possibly  the  maid  might  be  deceived  by  a  suspicion  that 
the  witch  touched  her  when  she  did  not.'  And  nothing 
more  likely ;  but  what  does  this  prove  ?  That  the 
child's  terrors  were  sincere  ;  not  that  the  so-called  witch 
had  done  the  acts  alleged  against  her.  Hov/ever,  Mr. 
Pacy's  solution  of  the  difficulty  was  readily  accepted.     If 


l6  A    PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL. 

the  children  were  not  shamming  out  of  mahce  or  from  a 
love  of  imposture,  then  '  it  is  very  evident  that  the  parties 
were  bewitched,  and  that  when  they  apprehend  that  the 
persons  who  have  done  them  this  wrong  are  near,  or 
touch  them,  then,  their  spirits  being  more  than  ordinarily 
moved  with  rage  and  anger,  they  do  use  more  violent 
gestures  of  their  bodies.' 

Such  was  the  evidence.  The  accused  did  not  con- 
fess themselves  guilty.  When  asked  what  they  had  to 
say  for  themselves,  they  replied,  as  well  they  might  : 
'  Nothing  material  to  anything  that  had  been  proved.' 
Hale  then  charged  the  jury.  He  did  not  even  go  over  the 
evidence  to  them  : — 

Only  this  he  acquainted  them  :  that  they  had  two  things 
to  inquire  after.  First,  whether  or  no  these  children  were 
bewitched  ;  secondly,  whether  the  prisoners  at  the  bar  were 
guilty  of  it.  That  there  were  such  creatures  as  witches  he 
made  no  doubt  at  all.  For,  first,  the  Scriptures  had  affirmed 
so  much  ;  secondly,  the  wisdom  of  all  nations  had  provided 
laws  against  such  persons,  which  is  an  argument  of  their 
confidence  of  such  a  crime.  And  such  hath  been  the  judg- 
ment of  this  kingdom,  as  appears  by  that  Act  of  Parliament 
which  hath  provided  punishments  proportionable  to  the 
quality  of  the  offence.  And  he  desired  them  strictly  to 
observe  their  evidence,  and  desired  the  great  God  of  Heaven 
to  direct  their  hearts  in  this  weighty  thing  they  had  in  hand. 
For  to  condemn  the  innocent,  and  to  let  the  guilty  go  free, 
were  both  an  abomination  to  the  Lord. 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  17 

The  jury  retired.  In  half  an  hour  they  came  back 
with  a  verdict  of  guilty  against  both  prisoners.  Next 
morning  the  children  who  had  been  produced  in  court 
were  brought  to  Hale's  lodgings,  perfectly  restored  : — 

Mr.  Pacy  did  affirm,  that  within  less  than  half  an  hour 
after  the  witches  were  convicted,  they  were  all  of  them 
restored,  and  slept  well  that  night  ;  only  Susan  Chandler  felt 
a  pain  like  pricking  of  pins  in  her  stomach. 

And  this  seems  to  have  removed  all  shadow  of  doubt  or 


In  conclusion,  the  judge  and  all  the  court  were  fully  satisfied 
with  the  verdict,  and  thereupon  gave  judgment  against  the 
witches  that  they  should  be  hanged.  They  were  much  urged 
to  confess,  but  would  not.  That  morning  we  departed  for 
Cambridge  ;  but  no  reprieve  was  granted,  and  they  were 
executed  on  Monday,  the  seventeenth  of  March  (1664)  follow- 
ing, but  they  confessed  nothing. 

Now,  the  inference  to  be  drawn  from  this  trial  is  not 
by  any  means  that  Hale  was  '  an  imbecile  or  credulous 
enthusiast.'  The  whole  history  of  his  life  and  doings  dis- 
proves it.  But  the  belief  in  witchcraft  was  in  the  very 
atmosphere  which  Hale  breathed,  as  the  belief  in  miracle 
was  in  the  very  atmosphere  which  St.  Paul  breathed. 
What  the  trial  shows  us  is,  that  a  man  of  veracity,  judg- 
ment, and  mental  power,  may  have  his  mind  thoroughly 
governed,  on  certain  subjects,  by  a  foregone  conclusion 

c 


i8  A    PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL. 

as  to  what  is  likely  and  credible.  But  I  will  not  further 
enlarge  on  the  illustration  which  Hale  furnishes  to  us  of 
this  truth.  An  illustration  of  it,  with  a  yet  closer  appli- 
cabiHty  to  St.  Paul,  is  supplied  by  another  worthy  of  the 
seventeenth  century. 

3- 

The  worthy  in  question  is  very  little  known,  and  I 
rejoice  to  have  an  opportunity  of  mentioning  him.  yohn 
Smith  I — the  name  does  not  sound  promising.  He  died 
at  the  age  of  thirty-four,  having  risen  to  no  higher  post 
in  the  world  than  a  college-fellowship.  '  He  proceeded 
leisurely  by  orderly  steps,'  says  Simon  Patrick,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Ely,  who  preached  his  funeral-sermon,  '  not  to 
what  he  could  get,  but  to  what  he  was  fit  to  undertake.' 
John  Smith,  born  in  1618  near  Oundle  in  Northampton- 
shire, was  admitted  a  scholar  of  Emanuel  College  at 
Cambridge  in  1636,  a  fellow  of  Queen's  College  in  1644. 
He  became  a  tutor  and  preacher  in  his  college  ;  died 
there,  '  after  a  tedious  sickness,'  on  the  7th  of  August, 
1652,  and  was  buried  in  the  college-chapel.  He  was  one 
of  that  band  of  Cambridge  Platonists,  or  latitude  men,  as 
in  their  own  day  they  were  called,  whom  Burnet  has  well 
described  as  those  '  who,  at  Cambridge,  studied  to  pro- 
pagate better  thoughts,  to  take  men  off  from  being  in 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  19 

parties,  or  from  narrow  notions,  from  superstitious  con- 
ceits and  fierceness  about  opinions.'  Principal  Tulloch 
has  done  an  excellent  work  in  seeking  to  reawaken  our 
interest  in  this  noble  but  neglected  group.  His  book ' 
is  delightful,  and  it  has,  at  the  same  time,  the  most 
serious  value.  But  in  his  account  of  his  worthies,  Prin- 
cipal Tulloch  has  given,  I  cannot  but  think,  somewhat 
too  much  space  to  their  Platonic  philosophy,  to  their 
disquisitions  on  spirit  and  incorporeal  essence.  It  is  not 
by  these  that  they  merited  to  live,  or  that,  having  passed 
away  from  men's  minds,  they  will  be  brought  back  to 
them.  It  is  by  their  extraordinary  simple,  profound,  and 
just  conception  of  religion.  Placed  between  the  sacer- 
dotal religion  of  the  Laudian  clergy  on  the  one  side,  and 
the  notional  religion  of  the  Puritans  on  the  other,  they 
saw  the  sterility,  the  certain  doom,  of  both; — saw  that 
stand  permanently  such  developments  of  religion  could 
not,  inasmuch  as  Christianity  was  not  what  either  of 
them  supposed,  but  was  a  temper,  a  behaviour. 

Their  immediate  recompense  was  a  religious  isolation 
of  two  centuries.  The  religious  world  was  not  then  ripe 
for  more  than  the  High  Church  conception  of  Christianity 
on  the  one  hand,  or  the  Puritan  conception  on  the  other. 

'  Rational  Theology  and  Christian  Philosophy  in  England  in  the 
Seventeenth  Centnry  ;  2nd  edition,  Edinburgh  and  London,  1874. 

c  2 


20       •       A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

The  Cambridge  band  ceased  to  acquire  recruits,  and  dis- 
appeared with  the  century.  Individuals  knew  and  used 
their  writings  ;  Bishop  Wilson  of  Sodor  and  Man,  in 
particular,  had  profited  by  them.  But  they  made  no 
broad  and  clear  mark.  And  this  was  in  part  for  the 
reason  already  assigned,  in  part  because  what  passed  for 
their  great  work  was  that  revival  of  a  spiritualist  and  Pla- 
tDnic  philosophy,  to  which  Principal  TuUoch,  as  I  have 
said,  seems  to  me  to  have  given  too  much  prominence. 
By  this  attempted  revival  they  could  not  and  cannot 
live.  The  theology  and  writings  of  Owen  are  not  more 
extinct  than  the  Intellectual  System  of  Cudworth.  But 
in  a  history  of  the  Cambridge  Platonists,  works  of  the 
magnitude  of  Cudworth's  Intellectual  System  of  the  Uni- 
ve7'se  must  necessarily,  perhaps,  fill  a  large  space.  There- 
fore it  is  not  so  much  a  history  of  this  group  which  is 
wanted,  as  a  republication  of  such  of  their  utterances  as 
show  us  their  real  spirit  and  power.  Their  spiritual 
brother,  '  the  ever  memorable  Mr.  John  Hales,'  must 
certainly,  notwithstanding  that  he  was  at  Oxford,  not 
Cambridge,  be  classed  along  with  them.  The  remains  of 
Hales  of  Eton,  the  sennons  and  aphorisms  of  Whichcote, 
the  sermon  preached  by  Cudworth  before  the  House  of 
Commons  with  the  second  sermon  printed  as  a  com- 
panion to  it,  single  sayings  and  maxims  of  Henry  More, 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  21 

and  the  Select  Discou7'ses  of  John  Smith, — there  are  our 
documents!  In  them  Hes  enshrined  what  the  latitude 
men  have  of  vahie  for  us.  It  were  well  if  Principal 
Tulloch  would  lay  us  under  fresh  obligations  by  himself 
extracting  this  and  giving  it  to  us ;  but  given  some  day, 
and  by  some  hand,  it  will  surely  be. 

For  Hales  and  the  Cambridge  Platonists  here  offer, 
formulated  with  sufficient  distinctness,  a  conception  of 
religion,  true,  long  obscured,  and  for  which  the  hour  of 
light  has  at  last  come.  Their  productions  will  not,  in- 
deed, take  rank  as  great  works  of  literature  and  style. 
It  is  not  to  the  history  of  literature  that  Whichcote  and 
Smith  belong,  but  to  the  history  of  religion.  Their  con- 
temporaries were  Bossuet,  Pascal,  Taylor,  Barrow.  It  is 
in  the  history  of  literature  that  these  men  are  mainly 
eminent,  although  they  may  also  be  classed,  of  course, 
among  religious  writers.  What  counts  highest  in  the 
history  of  religion  as  such,  is,  however,  to  give  what  at 
critical  moments  the  religious  life  of  mankind  needs  and 
can  use.  And  it  will  be  found  that  the  Cambridge 
Platonists,  although  neither  epoch-making  philosophers 
nor  epoch-making  men  of  letters,  have  in  their  concep- 
tion of  religion  a  boon  for  the  religious  Avants  of  our  own 
time,  such  as  we  sliall  demand  in  vain  from  the  soul  and 
poetry  of  Taylor,  from  the  sense  and  vigour  of  Barrow, 


22  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

from  the  superb  exercitations  of  Bossuet,  or  the  passion- 
filled  reasoning  and  rhetoric  of  Pascal. 

The  Select  Discourses  of  John  Smith,  collected  and 
published  from  his  papers  after  his  death,  are,  in  my 
opinion,  by  much  the  most  considerable  work  left  to  us 
by  this  Cambridge  school.  They  have  a  right  to  a  place 
in  English  literary  history.  Yet  the  main  value  of  the 
Select  Discourses  is,  I  repeat,  religious,  not  literary.  Their 
grand  merit  is  that  they  insist  on  the  profound  natural 
truth  of  Christianity,  and  thus  base  it  upon  a  ground 
which  will  not  crumble  under  our  feet.  Signal  and  rare 
indeed  is  the  merit,  in  a  theological  instructor^  of  pre- 
senting Christianity  to  us  m  this  fashion.  Christianity 
is  true ;  but  in  general  the  whole  plan  for  grounding  and 
buttressing  it  chosen  by  our  theological  instructors  is 
false,  and,  since  it  is  false,  it  must  fail  us  sooner  or  later. 
I  have  often  thought  that  if  candidates  for  orders  were 
simply,  in  preparing  for  their  examination,  to  read  and 
digest  Smith's  great  discourse,  On  t/ie  Excellency  and 
Nobleness  of  True  Religion,  together  v/ith  ^L  Reuss's 
History  of  Christian  Theology  at  the  time  of  the  Apostles, 
and  nothing  further  except  the  Bible  itself,  we  might 
have,  perhaps,  a  hope  of  at  last  getting,  as  our  national 
guides  in  religion,  a  clergy  which  could  tell  its  bearings 
and  steer  its  way,  instead  of  being,  as  we  now  see  it, 
too  often  conspicuously  at  a  loss  to  do  either. 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL.  23 

Singularly  enough,  about  fifteen  years-  before  the  trial 
at  Bury  St.  Edmunds  of  the  Lowestoft  witches,  John 
Smith,  the  author  of  the  Select  Discourses,  had  in  those 
very  eastern  counties  to  deliver  his  mind  on  the  matter 
of  witchcraft.  On  Lady-day  every  year,  a  Fellow  of 
Queen's  College,  Cambridge,  was  required  to  preach  at 
Huntingdon  a  sermon  against  witchcraft  and  diabolical 
contracts.  Smith,  as  one  of  the  Fellows  of  Queen's, 
had  to  preach  this  sermon.  It  is  printed  tenth  and  last 
of  his  Select  Discourses,  with  the  title :  A  Christian's 
Conflicts  and  Conquests ;  or,  a  Discourse  concerning  the 
DeviVs  Active  Enmity  and  Continual  Hostility  against 
Man,  the  Warfare  of  a  Christian  Life,  the  Certainty  of 
Success  and  Victory  in  this  Spiritual  Wa7fare,  the  Evil 
and  Horridness  of  Magical  Arts  and  Rites,  Diabolical 
Contracts,  &^c.  The  discourse  has  for  its  text  the  words  : 
'  Resist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  you.' 

The  preacher  sets  out  with  the  traditional  account  of 
'the  prince  of  darkness,  who,  having  once  stained  the 
original  beauty  and  glory  of  the  divine  workmanship,  is 
continually  striving  to  mould  and  shape  it  more  and 
more  into  his  own  likeness.'     He  says : — 

It  were  perhaps  a  vain  curiosity  to  inquire  whether  the 
number  of  evil  spirits  exceeds  the  number  of  men  ;  but  this 
is  too,  too  certain,  that  we  never  want  the  secret  and  latent 


24  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

attendance  of  them.  ,  .  .  Those  evil  spirits  are  not  yet  cast 
out  of  the  world  into  outer  darkness,  though  it  be  prepared 
for  them  ;  the  bottomless  pit  hath  not  yet  shut  its  mouth  upon 
them. 

And  he  concludes  his  sermon  with  a  reflexion  and  a 
caution,  called  for,  he  says,  by  the  particular  occasion. 
The  reflexion  is  that — 

Did  we  not  live  in  a  world  of  professed  wickedness,  wherein 
so  many  men's  sins  go  in  open  view  before  them  to  judgment, 
it  might  be  thought  needless  to  persuade  men  to  resist  the 
devil  when  he  appears  in  his  own  colours  to  make  merchan- 
dise of  them,  and  comes  in  a  formal  way  to  bargain  with 
them  for  their  souls  ;  that  which  human  nature,  however 
enthralled  to  sin  and  Satan  in  a  more  mysterious  way,  abhors, 
and  none  admit  but  tjiose  who  are  quite  degenerated  from 
human  kind. 

And  he  adds  the  caution,  that — 

The  use  of  any  arts,  rites,  or  ceremonies  not  understood, 
of  which  we  can  give  no  rational  or  divine  account,  this 
indeed  is  nothing  else  but  a  kind  of  magic  which  the  devil 
himself  owns  and  gives  life  to,  though  he  may  not  be  corpo- 
really present,  or  require  presently  any  further  covenant  from 
the  users  of  them.  The  devil,  no  question,  is  present  to  all 
his  own  rites  and  ceremonies,  though  men  discern  him  not, 
and  may  upon  the  use  of  them  secretly  produce  those  effects 
which  may  gain  credit  to  them.  Among  these  rites  we  may 
reckon  insignificant  forms  of  words,  with  their  several  modes 
and  manner  of  pronunciation,  astrological  arts,  and  whatso- 
ever else  pretends  to  any  strange  effects  which  we  cannot 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  25 

with  good  reason  either  ascribe  to  God  or  nature.  As  God 
will  only  be  conversed  withal  in  a  way  of  light  and  under- 
standing, so  the  devil  loves  to  be  conversed  with  in  a  way  of 
darkness  and  obscurity. 

But  between  his  exordium  and  his  conclusion  the  real 
man  appears.  Like  Hale,  Smith  seems  to  have  accepted 
the  belief  in  witchcraft  and  in  diabolical  contracts  which 
was  regnant  in  his  day.  But  when  he  came  to  deal  with 
the  belief  as  an  idea  influencing  thought  and  conduct,  he 
could  not  take  it  as  the  people  around  him  took  it.  It 
was  his  nature  to  seek  a  firm  ground  for  the  ideas 
admitted  by  him;  above  all,  when  these  ideas  had 
bearings  upon  religion.  And  for  witchcraft  and  diabolical 
operation,  in  the  common  conception  of  them  as  external 
things,  he  could  find  no  soHd  ground,  for  there  was  none ; 
and  therefore  he  could  not  so  use  them.  See,  therefore, 
how  profoundly  they  are  transformed  by  him  !  After  his 
exordium  he  makes  an  entirely  fresh  departure  : — '  When 
we  say  the  devil  is  continually  busy  with  us,  I  mean  not 
only  some  apostate  spirit  as  one  particular  being,  but 
that  spirit  of  apostasy  which  is  lodged  in  all  men's 
natures.'  Here,  in  this  spirit  of  apostasy  which  is  lodged 
in  all  men's  natures^  Smith  had  what  was  at  bottom 
experimental  and  real.  And  the  whole  eifort  of  the 
sermon  is  to  substitute  this  for  what  men  call  the  devil, 


26  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

hell,  fiends,  and  witches,  as  an  object  for  their  serious 
thought  and  strenuous  resistance  : — 

As  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  not  so  much  without  men 
as  within,  as  our  ^aviour  tells  us  ;  so  the  tyranny  of  the  devil 
and  hell  is  not  so  much  in  some  external  things  as  in  the 
quahties  and  dispositions  of  men's  minds.  And  as  the  enjoy- 
ing of  God,  and  conversing  with  him,  consists  not  so  much 
in  a  change  of  place  as  in  the  participation  of  the  divine 
nature  and  in  our  assimilation  unto  God  ;  so  our  conversing 
with  the  devil  is  not  so  much  by  a  mutual  local  presence  as 
by  an  imitation  of  a  wicked  and  sinful  nature  derived  upon 
men's  own  souls.  .  .  .  He  that  allows  himself  in  any  sin,  or 
useth  an  unnatural  dalliance  with  any  vice,  does  nothing  else 
in  reality  than  entertain  an  incubus  demon. 

This,  however,  was  by  no  means  a  view  of  diabolical 
possession  acceptable  to  the  religious  world  and  to  its 
Puritan  ministers  : — 

I  know  these  expressions  will  seem  to  some  very  harsh 
and  unwelcome  ;  but  I  would  beseech  them  to  consider  what 
they  will  call  that  spirit  of  malice  and  envy,  that  spirit  of 
pride,  ambition,  vain-glory,  covetousness,  injustice,  unclean- 
ness,  &;c.,  that  commonly  reigns  so  much  and  acts  so  violently 
in  the  minds  and  lives  of  men.  Let  us  speak  the  truth,  and 
call  things  by  their  own  names  ;  so  much  as  there  is  of  sin  in 
any  man,  so  much  there  is  of  the  diabolical  nature.  Why  do 
we  defy  the  devil  so  much  with  our  tongues,  while  we  enter- 
tain him  in  our  hearts  ?  As  men's  love  to  God  is  ordinarily 
nothing  else  but  the  mere  tendency  of  their  natures  to  some- 
thing that  hath  the  name  of  God  put  upon  it,  without  any 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  27 

clear  or  distinct  apprehensions  of  him,  so  their  hatred  of  the 
devil  is  commonly  nothing  else  but  an  inward  displacency  of 
nature  against  something  entitled  by  the  devil's  name.  And 
as  they  commonly  make  a  God  like  to  themselves,  such  a  one 
as  they  can  but  comply  with  and  love,  so  they  make  a  devil 
most  unlike  to  themselves,  which  may  be  anything  but  what 
they  themselves  are,  that  so  they  may  most  freely  spend  their 
anger  and  hatred  upon  him  ;  just  as  they  say  of  some  of  the 
Ethiopians,  who  used  to  paint  the  devil  white  because  they 
themselves  are  black.  This  is  a  strange,  merry  kind  of  mad- 
dess,  whereby  men  sportingly  bereave  themselves  of  the 
supremest  good,  and  insure  themselves,  as  much  as  may  be, 
to  hell  and  misery  ;  they  may  thus  cheat  themselves  for  a 
while,  but  the  eternal  foundation  of  the  Divine  Being .  is 
immutable  and  unchangeable.  And  where  we  find  wisdom, 
justice,  loveliness,  goodness,  love,  and  glory  in  their  highest 
elevations  and  most  unbounded  dimensions,  that  is  He  ;  and 
where  we  find  any  true  participations  of  these,  there  is  a  true 
communication  of  God  ;  and  a  defection  from  these  is  the 
essence  of  sin  and  the  foundation  of  hell. 

Finally  (and  I  quote  the  more  freely  because  the 
author  whom  I  quote  is  so  little  known), — finally  our 
preacher  goes  on  to  even  confute  his  own  exordium  : — 

It  was  the  fond  error  of  the  Manichees  that  there  was 
some  sd\\dipri?icipiujn  7nali,  which.,  having  an  eternal  existence 
of  its  own,  had  also  a  mighty  and  uncontrollable  power  from 
within  itself  whereby  it  could  forcibly  enter  into  the  souls 
of  men,  and,  seating  itself  there,  by  some  hidden  influences 
irresistibly  incline  and  inforce  them  to  evil.  But  we  our- 
selves uphold  that  kingdom  of  darkness,  which  else  would 
tumble  down  and  slide  into  that   nothing  from  whence  it 


28  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

came.  All  sin  and  vice  is  onr  own  creature  ;  we  only  give 
life  to  them  which  indeed  are  our  death,  and  would  soon 
wither  and  fade  away  did  we  substract  our  concurrence  from 
them. 

O  fortunate  Huntingdon  Church,  which  admitted  for 
even  one  day  such  a  counterblast  to  the  doctrines  then 
sounding  from  every  pulpit,  and  still  enjoined  by  Sir 
Robert  Phillimore ! 

That  a  man  shares  an  error  of  the  minds  around  him 
and  of  the  times  in  which  he  lives,  proves  nothing 
against  his  being  a  man  of  veracity,  judgment,  and 
mental  power.  This  we  saw  by  the  case  of  Hale.  But 
here,  in  our  Cambridge  Platonist,  we  have  a  man  who 
accepts  the  erroneous  belief  in  witchcraft,  professes  it 
publicly,  preaches  on  it ;  and  yet  is  not  only  a  man  of 
veracity  and  intelligence,  but  actually  manages  to  give 
to  the  error  adopted  by  him  a  turn,  an  aspect,  which 
indicates  its  erroneousness.  Not  only  is  he  of  help  to 
us  generally,  in  spite  of  his  error  ;  he  is  of  help  to  us  in 
respect  of  that  very  error  itself. 

Now,  herein  is  really  a  most  striking  analogy  between 

our  little-known  divine  of  the  seventeenth  century  and 

the  great  Apostle  of  the   Gentiles.      St.  Paul's  writings 

,  are  in  every  one's  hands.     I  have  myself  discussed  his 

doctrine  at  length.     And  for  our  present  purpose  there  is 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL.  29 


no  need  of  elaborate  exposition  and  quotation.  Every 
one  knows  how  St.  Paul  declares  his  belief  that  '  Christ 
rose  again  the  third  day,  and  was  seen  of  Cephas,  then 
of  the  twelve  ;  after  that,  he  was  seen  of  above  five 
hundred  brethren  at  once.'  ^  Those  who  do  not  admit 
the  miraculous  can  yet  well  conceive  how  such  a  belief 
arose,  and  was  entertained  by  St.  Paul.  The  resiirreciioji 
of  the  just  was  at  that  time  a  ruling  idea  of  a  Jew's 
mind.  Herod  at  once,  and  without  difficulty,  supposed 
that  John  the  Baptist  was  risen  from  the  dead.  The 
Jewish  people  without  difficulty  supposed  that  Jesus 
might  be  one  of  the  old  prophets,  risen  from  the  dead. 
In  telling  the  story  of  the  crucifixion  men  added,  quite 
naturally,  that  when  it  was  consummated,  '  many  bodies 
of  the  saints  which  slept  arose  and  appeared  unto  many! 
Jesus  himself,  moreover,  had  in  his  lifetime  spoken  fre- 
quently of  his  own  coming  resurrection.  Such  beliefs  as  the 
belief  in  bodily  resurrection  were  thus  a  part  of  the  mental 
atmosphere  in  which  the  first  Christians  lived.  It  was 
inevitable  that  they  should  believe  their  Master  to  have 
risen  again  in  the  body,  and  that  St.  Paul,  in  becoming 
a  Christian,  should  receive  the  belief  and  build  upon  it. 

But  Paul,  like  our  Cambridge  Platonist,  instinctively 
sought  in   an  idea,  used  for  religion,  a  side  by  which 
*  I  Cor.^  XV,  4,  5,  6. 


30  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

the  idea  could  enter  into  his  reHgious  experience  and 
become  real  to  him.  No  such  side  could  be  afforded  by 
the  mere  external  fact  and  miracle  of  Christ's  bodily 
resurrection.  Paul,  therefore,  as  is  well  known,  by  a 
prodigy  of  religious  insight  seized  another  aspect  for  the 
resurrection  than  the  aspect  of  physical  miracle.  He 
presented  resurrection  as  a  spiritual  rising  which  could  be 
appropriated  and  enacted  in  our  own  living  experience. 
'  If  One  died  in  the  name  of  all,  then  all  died  ;  and  he 
died  in  the  name  of  all,  that  they  who  live  should  no 
more  live  unto  themselves,  but  unto  him  who  died  and 
rose  again  in  their  name.'  ^  Dying  became  thus  no  longer 
a  bodily  dying,  but  a  dying  to  sin  ;  rising  to  life  no 
longer  a  bodily  resurrection,  but  a  living  to  God.  St. 
Paul  here  comes,  therefore,  upon  that  very  idea  of  death 
and  resurrection  which  was  the  central  idea  of  Jesus  him- 
self. At  the  very  same  moment  that  he  shares  and  pro- 
fesses the  popular  belief  in  Christ's  miraculous  bodily 
resurrection, — the  idea  by  which  our  Saviour's  own  idea 
of  resurrection  has  been  overlaid  and  effaced, — St.  Paul 
seizes  also  this  other  truer  idea  or  is  seized  by  it,  and  bears 
unconscious  witness  to  its  unique  legitimacy. 

AVhere,  then,  is  the  force  of  that  argument  of  despair, 
as  we  called  it,  that  if  St.  Paul  vouches  for  the  bodily  re- 
•  II  Cor.,  V,  14,  15. 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  31 

surrection  of  Jesus  and  for  his  appearance  after  it,  and  is 
mistaken  in  so  vouching,  then  he  must  be  '  an  imbecile 
and  credulous  enthusiast,'  untruthful,  unprofitable  ?  We 
see  that  for  a  man  to  believe .  in  preternatural  incidents, 
of  a  kind  admitted  by  the  common  belief  of  his  time, 
proves  nothing  at  all  against  his  general  truthfulness  and 
sagacity.  Nay,  we  see  that  even  while  affirming  such 
preternatural  incidents,  he  may  with  profound  insight 
seize  the  true  and  natural  aspect  of  them,  the  aspect 
which  will  survive  and  profit  when  the  miraculous  aspect 
has  faded.  He  may  give  us,  in  the  very  same  work, 
current  error  and  also  fruitful  and  profound  new  truth, 
the  error's  future  corrective. 

4. 

But  I  am  treating  of  these  matters  for  the  last  time. 
And  those  who  no  longer  admit,  in  religion,  the  old 
basis  of  the  preternatural,  I  see  them  encountered  by 
scruples  of  their  own,  as  well  as  by  scruples  raised  by 
their  opponents.  Their  opponents,  the  partisans  of  mi- 
racle, require  them  if  they  refuse  to  admit  miracle  to 
throw  aside  as  imbecile  or  untruthful  all  their  instructors 
and  inspirers  who  have  ever  admitted  it.  But  they  them- 
selves, too,  are  sometimes  afraid,  not  only  of  being  called 
inconsistent  and  insincere,  but  of  really  meriting  to  be 


32  A    PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL. 

called  so,  if  they  do  not  break  decidedly  with  the  religion 
in  which  they  have  been  brought  up,  if  they  at  all  try  still 
to  conform  to  it  and  to  use  it.  I  have  now  before  me 
a  remarkable  letter,  in  which  the  ^\Titer  says  : — 

There  is  nothing  I  and  many  others  should  like  better 
than  to  take  service  as  ministers  in  the  Church  as  a  national 
society  for  the  pj'omotioii  of  goodness  ;  but  how  can  we  do  so, 
when  we  have  first  to  declare  our  belief  in  a  quantity  of 
things  which  every  intelligent  man  rejects  ? 

Now,  as  I  have  examined  the  question  whether  a  man 
who  rejects  miracles  must  break  with  St.  Paul  because 
Paul  asserted  them,  so  let  me,  before  I  end,  examine  the 
question  whether  such  a  man  must  break  with  the 
Church  of  his  country  and  childhood. 

Certainly  it  is  a  strong  thing  to  suppose,  as  the  \\Titer 
of  the  above-quoted  letter  supposes,  a  man  taking  orders 
in  the  Church  of  England  who  accepts,  say,  the  view  of 
Christianity  offered  in  Litei'ature  and  Dogma.  For  the 
Church  of  England  presents  as  science,  and  as  neces- 
sary to  salvation,  what  it  is  the  very  object  of  that  book 
to  show  to  be  not  science  and  not  necessary  to  salvation. 
And  at  his  ordination  a  man  is  required  to  declare  that 
he,  too,  accepts  this  for  science,  as  the  Church  does.  For- 
merly a  deacon  subscribed  to  the  Thirty-nine  Articles, 
and  to  a  declaration  that  he  acknowledged  *  all  and  every 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  33 

the  articles  therein  contained  to  be  agreeable  to  the  word 
of  God.'  A  clerk,  admitted  to  a  benefice  with  cure, 
declared  '  his  unfeigned  assent  and  consent  to  all  the 
matters  contained  in  the  Articles.'  At  present,  I  think, 
all  that  is  required  is  a  general  consent  to  whatever  is 
contained  in  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  But  the 
Book  of  Common  Prayer  contains  the  Thirty-nine 
Articles.  And  the  Eighth  Article  declares  the  Three 
Creeds  to  be  science,  science  ^thoroughly  to  be  received 
and  believed.'  Now,  whether  one  professes  '  an  un- 
feigned assent  and  consent '  to  this  Article,  as  contained 
among  the  Thirty-nine  Articles,  or  merely  'a  general 
consent '  to  it,  as  contained  in  the  Prayer  Book,  one 
certainly,  by  consenting  to  it  at  all,  professes  to  receive 
the  Three,  Creeds  as  science,  and  as  true  science.  And 
this  is  the  very  point  where  it  is  important  to  be  explicit 
and  firm.  Whatever  else  the  Three  Creeds  may  be, 
they  are  not  science,  truly  formulating  the  Christian  re- 
ligion. And  no  one  who  feels  convinced  that  they  are 
not,  can  sincerely  say  that  he  gives  even  a  general  con- 
sent to  whatever  is  contained  in  the  Prayer  Book,  or  can 
at  present,  therefore,  be  ordained  a  minister  of  the 
Church  of  England. 

The  obstacle,  it  will  be  observed,  is  in  a  test  which 
lies  outside  of  the  Ordination  Service  itself     The  test  is 

D    ■ 


34  A    PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL. 

a  remnant  of  the  system  of  subscriptions  and  tests 
formerly  employed  so  vigorously.  It  was  meant  as  a 
reduction  and  alleviation  of  that  old  yoke.  To  obtain 
such  a  reduction  seemed  once  to  generous  and  ardent 
minds,  and  indeed  once  was,  a  very  considerable  con- 
quest. But  the  times  move  rapidly,  and  even  the  re- 
duced test  has  now  a  great  power  of  exclusion.  If  it 
were  possible  for  Liberal  politicians  ever  to  deal  seri- 
ously with  religion,  they  would  turn  their  minds  to  the 
removal  of  a  test  of  this  sort,  instead  of  playing  with 
political  dissent  or  marriage  with  a  deceased  wife's  sister. 
The  Ordination  Service  itself,  on  a  man's  entrance  into 
orders,  and  the  use  of  the  Church  services  afterwards, 
are  a  sufficient  engagement.  Things  were  put  into  the 
Ordination  Service  which  one  might  have  wished  other- 
wise. Some  of  them  are  gone.  The  introduction  of  the 
Oath  of  Supremacy  was  a  part,  no  doubt,  of  all  that  lion 
and  unicorn  business  which  is  too  plentiful  in  our  Prayer 
Book,  on  which  Dr.  Newman  has  showered  such  ex- 
quisite raillery,  and  of  which  only  the  Philistine  element 
in  our  race  prevents  our  seeing  the  ridiculousness.  But 
the  Oath  of  Supremacy  has  now  no  longer  a  place  in  the 
Ordination  Service.  Apart,  however,  from  such  mere 
matters  of  taste,  there  was  and  still  is  the  requirement,  in 
the  Ordering  of  Deacons,  of  a  declaration  of  unfeigned 


A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  35 


belief  in  all  the  canonical  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testament.  Perhaps  this  declaration  can  have  a  con- 
struction put  upon  it  which  makes  it  admissible.  But 
by  its  form  of  expression  it  recalls,  and  appears  to  adopt, 
the  narrow  and  letter-bound  views  of  Biblical  inspiration 
formerly  prevalent, — prevalent  with  the  Fathers  as  well  as 
with  the  Reformers,— but  which  are  now,  I  suppose,  gene- 
rally abandoned.  I  imagine  the  clergy  themselves  would 
be  glad  to  substitute  for  this  declaration  the  words  in  the 
Ordering  of  Priests,  where  the  candidate  declares  himself 
'  persuaded  that  the  Holy  Scriptures  contain  sufficiently 
all  doctrine  required  for  eternal  salvation  through  faith 
in  Jesus  Christ.'  These  words  present  no  difficulty,  nor 
is  there  any  other  serious  difficulty,  that  I  can  see,  raised 
by  the  Ordination  Service  for  either  priests  or  deacons. 
The  declaration  of  a  general  consent  to  the  x\rticles  is 
another  matter  ;  although  perhaps,  in  the  present  temper 
of  men's  minds,  it  could  not  easily  be  got  rid  of. 

The  last  of  Butler's  jottings  in  his  memorandum- 
book  is  a  prayer  to  be  delivered  '  from  offendicidum  of 
scrupulousness.'  He  was  quite  right.  Religion  is  a 
matter  where  scrupulousness  has  been  far  too  active,  pro- 
ducing most  serious  mischief ;  and  where  it  is  singularly 
out  of  place.  I  am  the  very  last  person  to  wish  to  deny 
it.     Those,  therefore,  who  declared  their  consent  to  the 


36  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

Articles  long  ago,  and  who  are  usefully  engaged  in  the 
ministry  of  the  Church,  would  in  my  opinion  do  exceed- 
ingly ill  to  disquiet  themselves  about  having  given  a  con- 
sent to  the  Articles  formerly,  Avhen  things  had  not  moved 
to  the  point  jvhere  they  are  now,  and  did  not  appear  to 
men's  minds  as  they  now  appear.  '  Forgetting  those  things 
which  are  behind  and  reaching  forth  to  those  things 
which  are  before,'  should  in  these  cases  be  a  man's  motto. 
The  Church  is  properly  a  national  society  for  the  pro- 
motion of  goodness.  For  him  it  is  such  ;  he  ministers  in 
it  as  such.  He  has  never  to  use  the  Articles,  never  to 
rehearse  them.  He  has  to  rehearse  the  prayers  and 
services  of  the  Church.  Much  of  these  he  may  rehearse 
as  the  Hteral,  beautiful  rendering  of  what  he  himself  feels 
and  believes.  The  rest  he  may  rehearse  as  an  approxi- 
mative rendering  of  it ; — as  language  thrown  out  by  other 
men,  in  other  times,  at  immense  objects  which  deeply 
engaged  their  affections  and  awe,  and  which  deeply 
engage  his  also  ;  objects  concerning  which,  moreover, 
adequate  statement  is  impossible.  To  him,  therefore, 
this  approximative  part  of  the  prayers  and  services  which 
he  rehearses  will  be  poetry.  It  is  a  great  error  to  think 
that  whatever  is  thus  perceived  to  be  poetry  ceases  to  be 
available  in  religion.  The  noblest  races  are  those  which 
know  how  to  make  the  most  serious  use  of  poetry. 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  yj 


But  the  Articles  are  plain  prose.     They  aim  at  the 
exactitude  of  a  legal   document.     They  are  a  precise 
profession  of  belief,  formulated  by  men  of  our  own  nation 
three  hundred  years  ago,  in  regard,  amongst  other  things, 
to  parts  of  those  services  of  the  Church  of  which  we  have 
been  speaking.     At  all  points  the  Articles  are,  and  must 
be,  inadequate ;  but  into  the  question  of  their  general  in- 
adequacy we  need  not  now  enter.    One  point  is  sufficient. 
They  present  the  Creeds  as  science,  exact  science  3  and 
this,  at  the  present  time  of  day,  very  many  a  man  cannot 
accept.     He  cannot  rightly,  then,  profess  in  any  way  to 
accept  it  j  cannot,  in  consequence,  take  orders. 

But  it  is  easy  for  such  a  man  to  exaggerate  to  himself 
the  barrier  between  himself  and  popular  religion.     The 
barrier  is  not  so  great  as  he  may  suppose;  and  it  is  expe- 
dient for  him  rather  to  think  it  less  great  than  it  is,  than 
more  great.     It  will  insensibly  dwindle,  the  more  that  he, 
and  other  serious  men  who  think  as  he  does,  strive  so  far 
as  they  can  to  act  as  if  it  did  not  exist.     It  will  stand  stiff 
and  bristling  the  more  they  act  as  if  it  were  insurmount- 
able.   The  Church  of  our  country  is  to  be  considered  as  a 
national  Christian  society  for  the  promotion  of  goodness, 
to  which  a  man  cannot  but  wish  well,  and  in  which  he 
might  rejoice  to  minister.     To  a  right-judging  mind,  the 
cardinal  points  of  beHef  for  either  the  member  or  the 


38  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

minister  of  such  a  society  are  but  two  :  Salvation  by  Right- 
eousness and  Righteousness  by  Jesiis  Christ.  Salvation  by- 
Righteousness, — there  is  the  sum  of  the  Old  Testament : 
Righteousness  by  Jesus  Christ, — there  is  the  sum  of  the 
New.  For  popular  religion,  the  cardinal  points  of  belief 
are  of  course  a  good  deal  more  numerous.  Not  without 
adding  many  others  could  popular  religion  manage  to 
benefit  by  the  first-named  two.  But  the  first-named  two 
have  its  adherence.  It  is  from  the  very  effort  to  benefit 
by  them  that  it  has  added  all  the  rest.  The  services  of  the 
•Church  are  full  of  direct  recognitions  of  the  two  really 
essential  points  of  Christian  belief :  Salvation  by  Right- 
eous7iess  and  Righteousness  by  Jesus  Christ.  They  are  full, 
too,  of  what  may  be  called  approximate  recognitions  of 
them ; — efforts  of  the  human  mind,  in  its  gradual  growth, 
to  develop  them,  to  fix  them,  to  buttress  them,  to  make 
them  clearer  to  itself,  to  bring  them  nearer,  by  the  addition 
of  miracle  and  metaphysic.  This  is  poetry.  The  Articles 
say  that  this  poetry  is  exact  prose.  But  the  Articles  are 
no  more  a  real  element  of  the  Prayer  Book  than  Brady 
and  Tate's  metrical  version  of  the  Psalms,  which  has 
now  happily  been  expelled.  And  even  while  the  Articles 
continue  to  stand  in  the  Prayer  Book,  yet  a  layman  can 
use  the  Prayer  Book  as  if  they  and  their  definitions  did 
not  exist.  To  be  ordained,  however,  one  must  adhere  to 
their  definitions.     But,  putting  the  Articles  aside,  will  a 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  39 

layman,  since  he  is  free,  would  a  clergyman,  if  he  were 
free,  desire  to  abandon  the  use  of  all  those  parts  of  the 
Prayer  Book  which  are  to  be  regarded  as  merely  approxi- 
mative recognitions  of  its  two  central  truths,  and  as 
poetry  ?  Must  all  such  parts  one  day,  as  our  experience 
widens  and  this  view  of  their  character  comes  to  prevail, 
be  eliminated  from  our  public  worship  ?  The  question  is 
a  most  important  one. 

For  although  the  Comtists,  by  the  mouth  of  their 
most  eloquent  spokesman,  tell  us  that  '  'tis  the  pedantry 
of  sect  alone  which  can  dare  to  monopolise  to  a  special 
creed  those  precious  heirlooms  of  a  common  race,'  the 
ideas  and  power  of  religion,  and  propose  to  remake 
religion  for  us  with  new  and  improved  personages,  and 
rites,  and  words ;  yet  it  is  certain  that  here  as  elsewhere 
the  wonderful  force  of  habit  tells,  and  that  the  power  of 
religious  ideas  over  us  does  not  spring  up  at  call,  but  is 
intimately  dependent  upon  particular  names  and  prac- 
tices and  forms  of  expression  which  have  gone  along 
with  it  ever  since  we  can  remember,  and  which  have 
created  special  sentiments  in  us.  1  believe,  indeed,  that 
the  eloquent  spokesman  of  the  Comtists  errs  at  the  very 
outset.  I  believe  that  the  power  of  religion  does  of  nature 
belong,  m  a  unique  way,  to  the  Bible  and  to  Christianity, 
and  that  it  is  no  pedantry  of  sect  which  affirms  this,  but 
experience.      Yet   even   were   it   as   he    supposes,   and 


40  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

Christianity  ^\'ere  not  the  one  proper  bringer-in  of 
righteousness  and  of  the  reign  of  the  Spirit  and  of 
eternal  Hfe,  and  these  were  to  be  got  as  well  elsewhere, 
but  still  we  ourselves  had  leamt  all  we  know  about  them 
from  Christianity, — then  for  us  to  be  taught  them  in  some 
other  guise,  by  some  other  instmctor,  would  be  almost 
impossible.  Habits  and  associations  are  not  formed  in 
a  day.  Even  if  the  very  young  have  time  enough  before 
them  to  learn  to  associate  religion  with  new  personages 
and  precepts,  the  middle-aged  and  the  old  have  not,  and 
must  shrink  from  such  an  endeavour.  Mane  nobisann, 
Dojume,  nam  advesperascit. 

Nay,  but  so  prodigious  a  revolution  does  the  changing 
the  whole  form  and  feature  of  religion  turn  out  to  be,  that 
it  even  unsettles  all  other  things  too,  and  brings  back 
chaos.  When  it  happens,  the  civilisation  and  the  society 
to  which  it  happens  are  disintegrated,  and  men  have  to 
begin  again.  This  is  what  took  place  when  Christianity 
superseded  the  old  religion  of  the  Pagan  world.  People 
may  say  that  there  is  a  fund  of  ideas  common  to  all 
religions,  at  least  to  all  religions  of  superior  and  civilised 
races ;  and  that  the  personages  and  jDrecepts,  the  form 
and  feature,  of  one  such  religion  may  be  exchanged  for 
those  of  another,  or  for  those  of  some  new  religion 
devised  by  an   enlightened   eclecticism,  and   the  world 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  41 

may  go  on  all  the  while  without  much  disturbance. 
There  were  philosophers  who  thought  so  when  Paganism 
was  going  out  and  Christianity  coming  in.  But  they  were 
mistaken.  The  whole  civilisation  of  the  Roman  world 
was  disintegrated  by  the  change,  and  men  had,  I  say,  to 
begin  again.  So  immense  is  the  sentiment  created  by 
the  things  to  which  we  have  been  used  in  religion,  so 
profound  is  the  wrench  at  parting  with  them,  so  in- 
calculable is  the  trouble  and  distraction  caused  by  it. 
Now,  we  can  hardly  conceive  modern  civilisation 
breaking  up  as  the  Roman  did,  and  men  beginning 
again  as  they  did  in  the  fifth  century.  But  the  improba- 
bility of  this  implies  the  improbability,  too,  of  our  seeing 
all  the  form  and  feature  of  Christianity  disappear, — of 
the  religion  of  Christendom.  For  so  vast  a  revolution 
would  this  be,  that  it  would  involve  the  other. 

These  considerations  are  of  force,  I  think,  in  regard 
to  all  radical  change  in  the  language  of  the  Prayer  Book. 
It  has  created  sentiments  deeper  than  we  can  see  or 
measure.  Our  feeling  does  not  connect  itself  with  any 
language  about  righteousness  and  religion,  but  with  that 
language.  Very  much  of  it  we  can  all  use  in  its  literal 
acceptation.  But  the  question  is  as  to  those  parts 
which  we  cannot.  Of  course,  those  who  can  take  them 
literally  will  still  continue  to  use  them.     But  for  us  also, 


42  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

who  can  no  longer  put  the  Hteral  meaning  on  them  which 
others  do,  and  which  we  ourselves  once  did,  they  retain 
a  power,  and  something  in  us  vibrates  to  them.  And  not 
unjustly.  For  these  old  forms  of  expression  were  men's 
sincere  attempt  to  set  forth  with  due  honour  what  we 
honour  also  ;  and  the  sense  of  the  attempt  gives  a 
beauty  and  an  emotion  to  the  words,  and  makes  them 
poetry.  The  Creeds  are  in  this  way  an  attempt  to  exalt 
to  the  utmost,  by  assigning  to  him  all  the  characters 
which  to  mankind  seemed  to  confer  exaltation,  Jesus 
Christ.  I  have  elsewhere  called  the  Apostles'  Creed  the 
popular  science  of  Christianity,  and  the  Nicene  Creed  its 
learned  science ;  and  in  one  view  of  them  they  are  so. 
But  in  another  and  a  better  view  of  them,  they  are,  the 
one  its  popular  poetry,  the  other  its  learned  or, — to 
borrow  the  word  which  Schopenhauer  applied  to  Hegel's 
philosophy, — its  scholastic  poetry.  The  one  Creed  exalts 
Jesus  by  concrete  images,  the  other  by  an  imaginative  play 
of  abstract  ideas.  These  two  Creeds  are  the  august  am- 
plifications, or  the  high  elucidations,  which  came  naturally 
to  the  human  spirit  working  in  love  and  awe  upon  that 
inexhaustible  theme  of  profound  truth  :  Salvation  tJiroiigh 
yesus  Christ.  As  such,  they  are  poetry  for  us ;  and 
poerry  consecrated,  moreover,  by  having  been  on  the 
tongue  of  all  our  forefathers  for  two  thousand  years,  and 


A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL^.  43 

on  our  own  tongue  ever  since  we  were  born.  As  such, 
then,  we  can  feel  them,  even  when  we  no  longer  take 
them  Hterally  ;  while,  as  approximations  to  a  profound 
truth,  we  can  7ise  them.  We  cannot  call  them  science, 
as  the  Articles  would  have  us;  but  we  can  still  feel  them 
and  still  use  them.  And  if  we  can  do  this  with  the 
Creeds,  still  more  can  we  do  it  with  the  rest  of  the  services 
in  the  Prayer  Book. 

As  to  the  very  and  true  foundations,  therefore,  of  the 
Christian  religion, — the  belief  that  salvation  is  by  right- 
eousness, and  that  righteousness  is  by  Jesus  Christ, — we 
are,  in  fact,  at  one  with  the  rehgious  world  in  general.  As 
to  the  true  object  of  the  Church,  that  it  is  the  promotion 
of  goodness,  we  are  at  one  with  them  also.  And  as  to 
the  form  and  wording  of  religion, — a  form  and  wording 
consecrated  by  so  many  years  and  memories, — even  as  to 
this  we  need  not  break  with  them  either.  They  and  we 
can  remain  in  sympathy.  Some  changes  will  no  doubt 
befall  the  Prayer  Book  as  time  goes  on.  Certain  things 
will  drop  away  from  its  services,  other  things  will  replace 
them.  But  such  change  will  happen,  not  in  a  sweeping 
way  ;— it  will  come  very  gradually,  and  by  the  general 
wish.  It  will  be  brought  about,  not  by  a  spirit  of  scru- 
pulosity, innovation,  and  negation,  but  by  a  prevalent 
impulse  to  express  in  our  church-services  somewhat  which 


44  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

is  felt  to  need  expression,  and  to  be  not  sufficiently  ex- 
pressed there  already. 

After  all,  the  great  confirmation  to  a  man  in  believing 
that  the  cardinal  points  of  our  religion  are  far  fewer  and 
simpler  than  is  commonly  supposed,  is  that  such  was 
surely  the  belief  of  Jesus  himself.  And  in  like  manner, 
the  great  reason  for  continuing  to  use  the  famiHar  language 
of  the  religion  around  us  as  approximative  language,  and 
as  poetry,  although  we  cannot  take  it  literally,  is  that 
such  was  also  the  practice  of  Jesus,  For  evidently  it  was 
so.  And  evidently,  again,  the  immense  misapprehension 
of  Jesus  and  of  his  meaning,  by  popular  religion,  comes 
in  part  from  such  having  been  his  practice.  But  if  Jesus 
used  this  way  of  speaking  in  spite  of  its  plainly  leading 
to  such  misapprehension,  it  must  have  been  because  it 
was  the  best  way  and  the  only  one.  For  it  was  not  by  in- 
troducing a  brand-new  religious  language,  and  by  parting 
with  all  the  old  and  cherished  images,  that  popular  re- 
ligion could  be  transformed ;  but  by  keeping  the  old 
language  and  images,  and  as  far  as  possible  conveying 
into  them  the  soul  of  the  new  Christian  ideal. 

When  Jesus  talked  of  the  Son  of  Man  coming  in  his 
glory  with  the  holy  angels,  setting  the  good  on  his  right 
hand  and  the  bad  on  his  left,  and  sending  away  the  bad 
into  everlasting  fire  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels, 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  45 


was  he  speaking  literally?     Did  Jesus  mean  that  all  this 
would  actually  happen  ?     Popular  religion  supposes  so. 
Yet  very  many  religious  people,  even  now,  suppdse  that 
Jesus  was  but  using  the  figures  of  Messianic  judgment 
familiar  to  his  hearers,  in  order  to  impress  upon  them 
his  main  point  :— what  sort  of  spirit  and  of  practice  did 
really  tend  to  salvation,  and  what  did  not.     And  surely 
almost  every  one  must  perceive,  that  when  Jesus  spoke 
to  his  disciples  of   their  sitting  on  thrones  judging  the 
twelve  tribes  of  Israel,  or  of  their   drinking   new  wine 
with  him  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  he  was  adopting  their 
material  images  and  beliefs,  and  was  not  speaking  lite- 
rally.    Yet   their   Master's   thus  adopting  their  material 
images  and  beliefs  could  not  but  confirm  the  disciples  in 
them.     And  so  it  did,  and  Christendom,  too,  after  them  ; 
yet  in  this  way,  apparently,  Jesus  chose  to  proceed.     But 
some  one  may  say,  that  Jesus  used  this  language  because 
he  himself  shared  the  materialistic  notions  of  his  disciples 
about  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  thought  that  coming  upon 
the  clouds,  and  sitting  upon  thrones,  and  drinking  wine, 
would  really  occur  in  it,  and  was  mistaken  in  thinking 
so.     And  yet  there  are  plain  signs  that  this  cannot  be 
the  right  account  of  the  matter,  and  that  Jesus  did  not 
really  share  the  beliefs  of  his  disciples  or  conceive  the 
kingdom   of  God   as   they   did.      For   they  manifestly 


46  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

thought, — even  the  wisest  of  them,  and  after  their  Master's 
death  as  well  as  before  it, — that  this  kingdom  was  to  be 
a  sudden,  miraculous,  outward  transformation  of  things, 
which  was  to  come  about  very  soon  and  in  their  own  life- 
time. Nevertheless  they  themselves  report  Jesus  saying 
what  is  in  direct  contradiction  to  all  this.  They  report 
him  describing  the  kingdom  of  God  as  an  inward  change 
requiring  to  be  spread  over  an  immense  time,  and 
coming  about  by  natural  means  and  gradual  growth,  not 
suddenly,  miraculously.  Jesus  compares  the  kingdom  of 
God  to  a  grain  of  mustard  seed  and  to  a  handful  of  leaven. 
He  says  :  '  So  is  the  kingdom  of  God,  as  a  man  may  cast 
seed  in  the  ground,  and  may  go  to  bed  and  get  up  night 
and  day,  and  the  seed  shoots  and  extends  he  knoweth 
not  how.'  ^  Jesus  told  his  disciples,  moreover,  that  the 
good  news  of  the  kingdom  had  to  be  preached  to  the  whole 
world.  The  whole  world  must  first  be  evangelised,  no 
work  of  one  generation,  but  of  centuries  and  centuries  ; 
and  then,  but  not  till  then,  should  the  end,  the  last  day, 
'  the  new  world,  the  grand  transformation  of  which  Jewish 
heads  were  so  full,  finally  come.  True,  the  disciples  also 
make  Jesus  speak  as  if  he  fancied  this  end  to  be  as  near 
as  they  did.  But  it  is  quite  manifest  that  Jesus  spoke  to 
them,  at  different  times,  of  two  ends  :  one,  the  end  of  the 
'  Mark,  iv,  26,  27. 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  47 


Jewish  state  and  nation,  which  any  one  who  could  '  discern 
the  signs  of  that  time '  might  foresee  ;  the  other,  the  end 
of  the  world,  the  instatement  of  God's  kingdom  ;— and 
that  they  confused  the  two  ends  together.  Undeniably, 
therefore,  Jesus  saw  things  in  a  way  very  different  from 
theirs,  and  much  truer.  And  if  he  uses  their  materialising 
language  and  imagery,  then,  it  cannot  have  been  because 
he  shared  their  illusions.     Nevertheless,  he  uses  it. 

And  the  more  we  examine  the  whole  language  of  the 
Gospels,  the  more  we  shall  find  it  to  be  not  language  all 
of  the  speaker's  own,  and  invented  by  him  for  the  first 
time,  but  to  be  full  of  reminiscence  and  quotation.     How 
deeply   all    the  speakers'   minds    are   governed   by  the 
contents  of  one  or  two  chapters  in  Daniel,    everybody 
knows.     It  is  impossible  to  understand  anything  of  the 
New  Testament,  without  bearing  in  mind  that  the  main 
pivot,  on  which  all  that  is  said  turns,  is  supphed  by  half 
a  dozen  verses  of  Daniel.     '  The  God  of  heaven  shall  set 
up  a  kingdom  which  shall  never  be  destroyed,  and  shall 
stand  for  ever.     There  shall  be  a  time  of  trouble,  such  as 
never  was  since  there  was  a  nation  even  to  that  time.     I 
beheld,  till  the  thrones  were  cast  down,  and  the  Ancient 
of  days  did  sit ;  and,  behold,  one  like  the  Son  of  man 
came  with  the  clouds  of  heaven,  and  came  to  the  Ancient 
of  days  ;  the  judgment  was    set  and   the  books  were 


48  A  PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

opened.  And  many  of  them  that  sleep  in  the  dust  of  the 
earth  shall  awake,  some  to  everlasting  life,  and  some  to 
shame  and  everlasting  contempt.'  ^  The  language  of  this 
group  of  texts,  I  say,  governs  the  whole  language  of  the 
New  Testament  speakers.  The  disciples  use  it  literally, 
Jesus  uses  it  as  poetry.     But  all  use  it. 

Those  texts  from  Daniel  almost  every  reader  of  the 
Bible  knows.  But  unless  a  man  has  an  exceedingly  close 
acquaintance  with  the  prophets,  he  can  have  no  notion,  I 
think,  how  very  much  in  the  speeches  of  Jesus  is  not 
original  language  of  his  own,  but  is  language  of  the  Old 
Testament, — the  religious  language  on  which  both  he  and 
his  hearers  had  been  nourished, — adopted  by  Jesus,  and 
with  a  sense  of  his  own  communicated  to  it.  There  is 
hardly  a  trait  in  the  great  apocalyptic  speech  of  the  twenty- 
fourth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew,  which  has  not  its  original 
in  some  prophet.  Even  where  the  scope  of  Jesus  is  most 
'profoundly  new  and  his  own,  his  phrase  is  still,  as  far  as 
may  be,  old.  In  the  institution  of  the  Lord's  Supper  his 
new  covenant  is  a  phrase  from  the  admirable  and  forward- 
pointing  prophecy  in  the  thirty-first  chapter  of  Jeremiah.^ 
The  covenant  in  my  blood  points  to  Exodus,^  and  probably, 
also,  to  an  expression  in  that  strange  but  then  popular 

'  Dan.,  ii,  44  ;  xii,  i,  2  ;  vii,  9,  10,  13. 
2  Verses  31 -34.  ^  Ex.,  xxiv,  8. 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  49 

medley,  the  book  of  Zechariah.^     These  phrases,  famUiar 
to  himself  and  to  his  hearers,  Jesus  willingly  adopted. 

But  if  we  confine  to  the  Old  Testament  alone  our 
search  for  parallel  passages,  we  shall  have  a  quite  insuffi- 
cient notion  of  the  extent  to  which  the  language  of  Jesus 
is  not  his  own  original  language,  but  language  and 
images  adopted  from  what  was  current  at  the  time.  It  is 
this  which  gives  such  pre-eminent  value  to  the  Book  of 
Enoch.  That  book, — quoted,  as  every  one  will  remem- 
ber, in  the  Epistle  of  Jude,^ — explains  what  would  cer- 
tainly appear,  if  we  had  not  this  explanation,  to  be  an 
enlargement  and  heightening  by  Jesus,  in  speaking  about 
the  end  of  the  world,  of  the  materialistic  data  furnished  by 
the  Old  Testament.  For  if  he  thus  added  to  them,  it  may 
be  said,  he  must  surely  have  taken  them  literally.  But 
the  Book  of  Enoch  exliibits  just  the  farther  stage  reached 
by  these  data,  between  the  earlier  decades  of  the  second 
century  before  Christ  when  the  Book  of  Daniel  was 
written,  and  the  later  decades  to  which  belongs  the  Book 
of  Enoch.  And  just  this  farther  growth  of  Messianic 
language  and  imagery  it  was,  with  which  the  minds  of  the 
contemporaries  of  Jesus  were  familiar.  And  in  speaking 
to  them  Jesus  had  to  deal  with  this  familiarity.  Unca- 
nonical,  therefore,  though  the  Book  of  Enoch  be, — for  it 

^  Zech.,  ix,  II.  2  Verse  14. 

E 


50  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

came  too  late,  and  perhaps  contains  things  too  strange,  for 
admission  into  the  Canon, — it  is  full  of  interest,  and  every 
one  should  read  it.  The  Hebrew  original  and  the  Greek 
version,  as  is  well  known,  are  lost  ;  but  the  book  passed 
into  the  ^thiopic  Bible,  and  an  yEthiopic  manuscript  of 
it  was  brought  to  this  country  from  Abyssinia  by  Bruce, 
the  traveller.  The  first  translator  and  editor  of  it,  Arch- 
bishop Laurence,  did  his  work.  Orientalists  say,  imper- 
fectly, and  the  English  version  cannot  be  trusted.  There 
is  an  excellent  German  version ;  but  I  wish  that  the  Bishop 
of  Gloucester  and  Bristol,  who  is,  I  believe,  an  ^thiopic 
scholar,  would  give  us  the  book  correctly  in  English. 

The  Book  of  Enoch  has  the  names  and  terms  which 
are  already  familiar  to  us  from  the  Old  Testament  :  Head 
or  Ancient  of  days,  Son  of  man,  Son  of  God,  Messiah. 
It  has  in  frequent  use  a  designation  for  God,  t/ie  Lord  of 
Spirits,  and  designations  for  the  Messiah,  the  Chosen  One, 
the  Just  One,  which  we  come  upon  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment,^ but  which  the  New  Testament  did  not,  apparently, 
get  from  the  Old.  It  has  the  angels  accompanying  the  Son 
of  Man  to  judgment,  and  the  Son  of  Man  '  sitting  on  the 
throne  of  his  glory.'  It  has,  again  and  again,  the  well- 
known  phrase  of  the  New  Testament  :  the  day  of  judg- 

1  The  Father  of  Spirits  in  Hebrczvs,  xii,  9  ;  the  Chosen  One  in 
Luke,  xxiii,  35  ;  the  Just  One  in  Acts,  xxii,  14. 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  51 

inent ;  it  has  its  outer  darkness  and  its  hell-fire.  It  has 
its  beautiful  expression,  children  of  light.  These  addi- 
tions to  the  Old  Testament  language  had  passed,  when 
Jesus  Christ  came,  into  the  religion  of  the  time.  He  did 
not  create  them,  but  he  found  them  and  used  them.  He 
employed,  as  sanctions  of  his  doctrine,  his  contempo- 
raries' ready-made  notions  of  hell  and  judgment,  just  as 
Socrates  did.  He  talked  of  the  outer  darkness  and  the 
unquenchable  fire,  as  Socrates  talked  of  the  rivers  of 
Tartarus.  And  often,  when  Jesus  used  phrases  which 
now  seem  to  us  to  be  his  own,  he  was  adopting  phrases 
made  current  by  the  Book  of  Enoch.  When  he  said  : 
'  It  were  better  for  that  man  he  had  never  been  born  ; ' 
when  he  said  :  '  Rejoice  because  your  names  are  written 
in  heaven ; '  when  lie  said  :  '  Their  angels  do  always 
behold  the  face  of  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven  ; '  when 
he  said  :  '  The  brother  shall  deliver  up  the  brother  to 
death  and  the  father  the  child ;  '  when  he  said  :  '  Then 
shall  the  righteous  shine  forth  as  the  sun  in  the  kingdom 
of  their  Father,'  he  was  remembering  the  book  of  Enoch. 
When  he  said  :  'Tell  it  to  the  church  ; '  when  he  said  to 
Peter  :  '  Thou  art  Peter,  and  upon  this  rock  will  I  build 
7?iy  church,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against 
it,' — expressions  which,  because  of  the  word  church,  some 
reject,  and  others  make  the  foundation  for  the  most  illu- 


52  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

sory  pretensions, — Jesus  was  but  recalling  the  Book  of 
Enoch.     For  in  that  book  the  expression,  the  company  or 
congregatio7i  (in  Greek  ecclcsid)  of  the  just  or  righteous^ — of 
the  destined  rulers  of  the  coming  kingdom  of  the  saints, 
— has  become  a  consecrated  phrase.     The  Messiah,  the 
founder  of  that  kingdom,  is  the  Just  One  ;  '  the  congre- 
gation of  the  just '  are  those  who  follow  the  Just  One,  the 
Just  One's  company  or  ecdesia.     When  Peter,  therefore, 
made  his  ardent  declaration  of  faith,  Jesus  answered  : 
'  Rock  is  thy  name,  and  on  this  rock  will  I  build  my  com- 
pany, and  the  power  of  death  shall  not  prevail  against  it.' 
Behold  at  its  source  the  colossal  inscription  round  the 
dome  of  St.  Peter's  :  Tti  es  Fetrus,  et  super  hanc  petram 
cedificabo  ecclesiam  meam! 

The  practical  lesson  to  be  drawn  from  all  this  is,  that 
we  should  avoid  violent  revolution  in  the  words  and 
externals  of  religion.  Profound  sentiments  are  connected 
with  them  ;  they  are  aimed  at  the  highest  good,  however 
imperfectly  apprehended.  Their  form  often  gives  them 
beauty,  the  associations  which  cluster  around  them  give 
them  always  pathos  and  solemnity.  They  are  to  be 
used  as  poetry ;  while  at  the  same  time  to  purge  and 
raise  our  view  of  that  ideal  at  which  they  are  aimed, 
should  be  our  incessant  endeavour.  Else  the  use  of 
them  is  mere  dilettantism.    We  should  seek,  therefore,  to 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  53 

use  them  as  Jesus  did.     How  freely  Jesus  himself  used 
them,  we  see.     And  yet  what  a  difference  between  the 
meaning  he  put  upon  them  and  the  meaning  put  upon 
them  by  the  Jews  !     In  how  general  a  sense  alone  can  it 
with  truth  be  said,  that  he  and  even  his  disciples  had  the 
same  aspirations,  the  same  final  aim  !     How  imperfectly 
did  his  disciples  apprehend  him  ;  how  imperfectly  must 
they  have  reported  him  !     But  the  result  has  justified  his 
way  of  proceeding.     For  while  he  carried  with  him,  so 
far  as   was   possible,  his  disciples,  and  the  world  after 
them,  and  all  who  even  now  see  him  through  the  eyes  of 
those  first  generations,  he  yet  also  marked  his  own  real 
meaning  so  indehbly,  that  it  shows  and  shines  clearly  out, 
to  satisfy  all  whom, — as  time  goes  on,  and  experience 
widens,  and  more  things  are  known, — the  old  imperfect 
apprehension  dissatisfies.     And  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  a  rejection  of  all  the  poetry  of  popular  religion  is 
necessary  or  advisable  now,  any  more  than  when  Jesus 
came.    But  it  is  an  aim  which  may  well  indeed  be  pursued 
with  enthusiasm,  to  make  the  true  meaning  of  Jesus,  in 
using  that  poetry,  emerge  and  prevail.     For  the  immense 
pathos,   so   perpetually  enlarged   upon,   of  his  life   and 
death,  does  really  culminate  here  :  that  Christians  have  so 
profoundly  misunderstood  him. 

And  perhaps  I  may  seem  to  have  said  in  this  essay 


54 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 


a  great  deal  about  what  was  merely  poetry  to  Jesus,  but 
too  little  about  what  was  his  real  meaning.  What  this 
was,  however,  I  have  tried  to  bring  out  elsewhere.  Yet 
for  fear,  from  my  silence  about  it  here,  this  essay  should 
seem  to  want  due  balance,  let  me  end  with  what  a  man 
who  writes  it  down  for  himself,  and  meditates  on  it,  and 
entitles  it  Chrisfs  religion,  will  not,  perhaps,  go  far 
wrong.  It  is  but  a  series  of  well-known  sayings  of  Jesus 
himself,  as  the  Gospels  deliver  them  to  us.  But  by  putting 
them  together  in  the  following  way,  and  by  connecting 
them,  we  enable  ourselves,  I  think,  to  understand  better 
both  what  Jesus  himself  meant,  and  how  his  disciples  came 
with  ease, — taking  the  sayings  singly  and  interpreting  them 
by  the  light  of  their  preconceptions, — to  mistake  them. 
We  must  begin,  surely,  with  that  wherewith  both  he  and 
they  began  ; — with  that  wherewith  Christianity  itself  be- 
gins, and  wherein  it  ends  :  '  the  kingdom  of  God.' 

The  time  is  fulfilled  a?id  the  ki?igdom  of  God  is  at 
hand  I  change  the  inner  man  and  belia'e  the  good  neivs  ! 

He  that  bclieveth  hath  eternal  life.  He  that  hcareth 
my  word,  and  beliroeih  him  that  sent  me,  hath  eternal  life, 
and  Cometh  not  into  judgment,  hut  hath  passed  from  death 
to  life.      Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you.  The  hour  cometh 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  55 

and  now  is,  when  the  dead  shall  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son 
of  God^  and  they  that  hear  shall  live. 

I  am  come  forth  f'oni  God  and  am  hei-e^for  I  have  not 
come  of  myself.,  but  he  sent  me.  No  man  can  co?ne  nnto 
vie  except  the  Father  that  sent  me  draw  him  ;  and  I  will 
7'aise  him  np  in  the  last  day.  He  that  is  of  God  heai'eth 
the  words  of  God;  my  doctrine  is  not  mine  but  his  that 
sent  me.  He  thai  receiveth  me  receiveth  him  that  sent 
me. 

And  why  call  ye  me  Lo7'd,  Lord,  and  do  not  ichat  I 
say .?  Jfy^  knoiu  these  things,  happy  are  ye  if  ye  do  them. 
Cleanse  that  which  is  within ;  the  evil  thoughts  from 
within,  from  the  heai't,  they  defile  the  man.  And  why 
seest  thou  the  mote  that  is  in  thy  bt'other's  eye,  but  perceivest 
not  the  beam  that  is  in  thine  own  eye  ?  Take  heed  to  your- 
selves against  insincerity ;  God  knoweth  your  hearts ; 
blessed  are  the  pure  in  heai't,  for  they  shall  see  God  I 

Come  unto  me,  all  that  labour  and  are  heavy-burdened, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you,  and 
learn  of  me  that  L  am  mild  and  lowly  in  heart,  and  ye 
shall  find  rest  unto  your  souls.  For  my  yoke  is  kindly, 
and  my  burden  light. 

I  am  the  bread  of  Ufc;  he  that  cometh  to  me  shall  never 
hunger,  and  he  that  bclieveth  on  me  shall  never  thirst.     I 


56  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

am  the  living  bread ;  as  the  living  Father  sent  me,  and  I 
live  by  the  Father,  so  he  that  eateth  me,  even  he  shall  live 
by  me.  It  is  the  spirit  that  maketh  live,  the  flesh  profiteth 
nothing;  the  words  which  1  have  said  nnto  you,  they  ai'e 
spirit  and  they  are  life.  If  a  man  keep  my  word,  he  shall 
never  see  death.  My  sheep  hear  my  voice,  and  I  know 
them,  and  they  follow  me,  and  I  give  unto  them  eternal  life^ 
and  they  shall  never  pe^'ish. 

If  a  man  serve  me,  let  him  follow  me;  and  where  I 
am.,  there  shall  also  my  servant  be.  Whosoever  doth  not 
cai'ry  his  cross  and  come  after  me,  cannot  be  my  disciple. 
If  any  man  will  co7ne  after  me,  let  him  renounce  himself, 
a?id  take  up  his  cross  daily,  and  follow  me.  For  zvhosocver 
7vill  save  his  life  shall  lose  it;  but  whosoever  shall  lose  his 
life  for  my  sak'  and  the  sake  of  the  good  neias,  the  same 
shall  save  it.  For  what  is  a  man  profited,  if  he  gain  the 
whole  wo?'ld,  but  lose  himself,  be  mulcted  of  himself? 
Therefore  doth  my  Father  love  me,  because  I  lay  doiun  7ny 
life  that  I  may  take  it  again.  A  new  commandment  give  I 
unto  you,  that  ye  love  one  another.  The  Son  of  man  came 
not  to  be  sci'ved  but  to  serve,  and  to  give  his  life  a  ransom 
for  many. 

I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life ;  he  that  believeth 
on  me,  though  he  die,  shall  live;  and  he  that  liveth  and 
bHieveth  on  me  shall  never  die.     I  am  come  that  ye  7night 


A  psychological',   parallel.  57 

have  life ^  and  that  ye  might  have  it  more  abundantly.  I 
cast  Old  devils  and  I  do  cures  to-day  and  to-mor7Vw;  and 
the  third  day  I  shall  be  perfected.  Yet  a  little  while,  and 
the  world  seeth  me  no  more;  but  ye  see  me,,  because  I  live 
and  ye  shall  live.  If  ye  keep  my  commandments  ye  shall 
abide  in  my  love,  like  as  I  have  kept  my  Father's  command- 
ments and  abide  in  his  love.  He  that  loveth  me  shall  be 
loved  of  my  Father,  and  I  will  love  him,  and  will  manifest 
myself  to  him.  If  a  man  love  me,  he  will  keep  my  word, 
and  my  Father  will  love  him,  and  we  will  come  unto  him, 
and  make  our  abode  with  him. 

I  am  the  good  shepherd ;  the  good  shepherd  lays  down 
his  life  for  the  sheep.  And  other  sheep  I  have,  which  are 
not  of  this  fold;  them  also  must  I  bring,  and  they  shall  be 
one  flock,  one  shepherd.  Fear  not,  little  flock,  for  it  is  your 
Father's  good pleasicre  to  give  you  the  kingdom. 

My  kingdom  is  not  of  this  world;  the  kingdom  of  God 
Cometh  not  with  observation;  behold,  the  kingdom  of  God  is 
within  you  !  Whei-eunto  shall  I  liken  the  kingdom  of  God  ? 
It  is  like  a  grain  of  micstai'd  seed,  which  a  man  took  and 
cast  into  his  garden,  aftd  it  grew,  and  waxed  a  g7'eat  tree, 
and  the  fowls  of  the  air  lodged  in  the  bra?tches  of  it.  It  is 
like  leaven,  which  a  woman  took,  and  hid  in  three  measures 
of  meal,  till  the  whole  was  leavened.  So  is  the  kingdom  of 
God,  as  a  man  may  cast  seed  in  the  givund,  and  may  go  to 


58  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL   PARALLEL. 

bed  and  get  up  night  and  day,  and  the  seed  shoots  and 
extends  he  knoweth  not  how. 

And  this  good  news  of  the  kingdom  shall  be  preached  in 
the  whole  world.,  for  a  witness  to  all  nations ;  and  then 
shall  the  end  come. 

With  such  a  construction  in  his  thoughts  to  govern  his 
use  of  it,  Jesus  loved  and  freely  adopted  the  common 
wording  and  imagery  of  the  popular  Jewish  religion.  In 
dealing  with  the  popular  religion  in  which  we  have  been 
ourselves  bred,  we  may  the  more  readily  follow  his 
example,  inasmuch  as,  though  all  error  has  its  side  of 
moral  danger,  yet,  evidently,  the  misconception  of  their 
religion  by  Christians  has  produced  no  such  grave  moral 
perversion  as  we  see  to  have  been  produced  in  the 
Scribes  and  Pharisees  by  their  misconception  of  the  reli- 
gion of  the  Old  Testament.  The  fault  of  popular 
Christianity  as  an  endeavour  after  righteousjiess  by  Jesus 
Christ  is  not,  like  the  fault  of  popular  Judaism  as  an 
endeavour  after  salvation  by  righteousness,  first  and  fore- 
most a  moral  fault.  It  is,  much  more,  an  intellectual  one. 
But  it  is  not  on  that  account  insignificant.  Dr.  Mozley 
urges,  that  '  no  inquiry  is  obligatory  upon  religious  minds 
in  matters  of  the  supernatural  and  miraculous,'  because, 
says  he,  though  '  the  human  mind  must  refuse  to  submit 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  59 

to  anything  contrary  to  moral  sense  in  Scripture/  yet 
'  there  is  no  moral  question  raised  by  the  fact  of  a 
miracle,  nor  does  a  supernatural  doctrine  challenge  any 
moral  resistance.'  As  if  there  were  no  possible  resistance 
to  religious  doctrines,  but  a  resistance  on  the  ground  of 
their  immorality  !  As  if  intellectual  resistance  to  them 
counted  for  nothing  !  The  objections  to  popular  Chris- 
tianity are  not  moral  objections,  but  intellectual  revolt 
against  its  demonstrations  by  miracle  and  metaphysics. 
To  be  intellectually  convinced  of  a  thing's  want  of  con- 
formity to  truth  and  fact  is  surely  an  insuperable  obstacle 
to  receiving  it,  even  though  there  be  no  moral  obstacle 
added.  And  no  moral  advantages  of  a  doctrine  can 
avail  to  save  it,  in  presence  of  the  intellectual  conviction 
of  its  want  of  conformity  with  truth  and  fact.  And  if  the 
want  of  conformity  exists,  it  is  sure  to  be  one  day  found 
out.  '  Things  are  what  they  are,  and  the  consequences 
of  them  will  be  what  they  will  be  ; '  and  one  inevitable 
consequence  of  a  thing's  want  of  conformity  with  truth 
and  fact  is,  that  sooner  or  later  the  human  mind  perceives 
it.  And  whoever  thinks  that  the  ground-beHef  of  Chris- 
tians is  true  and  indispensable,  but  that  in  the  account 
they  give  of  it,  and  of  the  reasons  for.  holding  it,  there  is 
a  want  of  conformity  with  truth  and  fact,  may  well  desire 
to  find   a  better   account   and   better  reasons,    and   to 


6o  A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL. 

prepare  the  way  for  their  admission  and  for  their  acquir- 
ing some  strength  and  consistency  in  men's  minds, 
against  the  day  when  the  old  means  of  rehance  fail. 

But,  meanwhile,  the  ground-belief  of  all  Christians, 
whatever  account  they  may  give  to  themselves  of  its 
source  and  sanctions,  is  in  itself  an  indestructible  basis  of 
fellowship.  Whoever  believes  the  final  triumph  of  Chris- 
tianity, the  Christianisation  of  the  world,  to  have  all  the 
necessity  and  grandeur  of  a  natural  law,  will  never  lack  a 
bond  of  profound  sympathy  with  popular  religion. 
Compared  with  agreement  and  difference  on  this  point, 
agreement  and  difference  on  other  points  seem  trifling. 
To  believe  that,  whoever  are  ignorant  that  righteousness 
is  salvation, '  the  Eternal  shall  have  them  in  derision  ; '  to 
beheve  that,  whatever  may  be  the  substitute  offered  for  the 
righteousness  of  Jesus,  a  substitute  however  sparkling, 
yet  '  whosoever  drinketh  of  this  water  shall  thirst  again  ; ' 
to  desire  truly  '  to  have  strength  to  escape  all  the  things 
which  shall  come  to  p^ss  and  to  stand  before  the  Son  of 
Man,' — is  the  one  authentic  mark  and  seal  of  the  household 
of  faith.  Those  who  share  in  this  belief  and  in  this  desire 
are  fellow-citizens  of  the  '  city  which  hath  foundations.' 
Whosoever  shares  in  them  not,  is,  or  is  in  danger  of  any 
day  becoming,  a  wanderer,  as  St.  Augustine  says,  through 
'  the  waste  places  fertile  in  sorrow  ; '  a  wanderer  '  seeking 


A   PSYCHOLOGICAL  PARALLEL.  6i 


rest  and  finding  none.'  ///  all  things  I  sought  rest;  theji 
the  Creator  of  all  things  gave  me  cojumandment  and  said: 
Let  thy  dwelling  be  in  yacob,  and  thine  inheritance  in 
Lsrael!  And  so  was  I  established  in  Sion ;  likewise  in 
the  beloved  city  he  gave  me  rest,  a7id  in  Jerusalem  was  my 
power. 


62  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


BISHOB  BUTLER   AND   THE  ZEITGEIST} 

I. 

In  Scotland,  I  imagine,  you  have  in  your  philosophical 
studies  small  experience  of  the  reverent  devotion  formerly, 
at  any  rate,  paid  at  Oxford  to  text-books  in  philosophy, 
such  as  the  SermoJis  of  Bishop  Butler,  or  the  Ethics  of 
Aristotle.  Your  students  in  philosophy  have  always 
read  pretty  widely,  and  have  not  concentrated  themselves, 
as  we  at  Oxford  used  to  concentrate  ourselves,  upon  one 
or  two  great  books.  However,  in  your  study  of  the 
Bible  you  got  abundant  experience  of  our  attitude  of 
mind  towards  our  two  philosophers.  Your  text-book  was 
right ;  there  were  no  mistakes  t/iefe.  If  there  was  any- 
thing obscure,  anything  hard  to  be  comprehended,  it  was 

'  The  two  following  discourses  were  delivered  as  lectures  at  the 
Edinburgh  Philosophical  Institution.  They  had  the  form,  therefore, 
of  an  address  to  hearers,  not  readers ;  and  they  are  printed  in  that 
form  in  which  they  were  delivered. 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  63 

your  ignorance  which  was  in  fault,  your  failure  of  compre- 
hension. Just  such  was  our  mode  of  dealing  with  Butler's 
Sermons  and  Aristotle's  Ethics.  Whatever  was  hard, 
whatever  was  obscure,  the  text-book  was  all  right,  and  our 
understandings  were  to  conform  themselves  to  it.  What 
agonies  of  puzzle  has  Butler's  account  of  self-love,  or 
Aristotle's  of  the  intellectual  virtues,  caused  to  clever 
undergraduates  and  to  clever  tutors ;  and  by  what  feats 
of  astonishing  explanation,  astonishingly  acquiesced  in, 
were  those  agonies  calmed !  Yet  the  true  solution  of 
the  difficulty  was  in  some  cases,  undoubtedly,  that  our 
author,  as  he  stood,  was  not  right,  not  satisfactory.  As 
to  secular  authors,  at  any  rate,  it  is  indisputable  that  their 
works  are  to  be  regarded  as  contributions  to  human 
knowledge,  and  not  more.  It  is  only  experience  which 
assures  us  that  even  the  poetry  and  artistic  form  of 
certain  epochs  has  not,  in  fact,  been  improved  upon,  and 
is,  therefore,  classical.  '  But  the  same  experience  assures 
us  that  in  all  matters  of  knowledge  properly  so  called, — 
above  all,  of  such  difficult  knowledge  as  are  questions  of 
mind  and  of  moral  philosophy, — any  writer  in  past  times 
must  be  on  many  points  capable  of  correction,  much  of 
what  he  says  must  be  capable  of  being  put  more  truly, 
put  clearer.  Yet  we  at  Oxford  used  to  read  our  Aristotle 
or  our  Butler  with  the  same  absolute  faith  in  the  classi- 


64  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

cality  of  their  matter  as  in  the  classicahty  of  Homer's 
form. 

The  time  inevitably  arrives,  to  people  who  think  at  all 
seriously,   when,  as  their  experience   widens,   they   ask 
themselves  what  they  are  really  to  conclude  about  the 
masters  and  the  works  thus  authoritatively  imposed  upon 
them  in  their  youth.     Above  all,  of  a  man  like  Butler  one 
is  sure  to  ask  oneself  this, — an  Englishman,  a  Christian, 
a  modern,  whose  circumstances  and  point  of  view  we 
can  come  pretty  well  to  know  and  to  understand,  and 
whose    works  we  can  be  sure  of  possessing  just  as  he 
published   them   and   meant  them  to  stand  before  us. 
And  Butler  deserves  that  one  should  regard  him  very 
attentively,  both  on  his  own  account,  and  also  because  of 
the  immense  and  confident  laudation  bestowed  upon  his 
writings.     Whether  he  completely  satisfies  us   or  no,  a 
man  so  profoundly  convinced  that  '  virtue, — the  law  of 
virtue  ™tten  on  our  hearts, — is  the  law  we  are  born 
under  ; '  a  man  so  staunch  in  his  respectful  allegiance  to 
reason,  a  man  who  says  :  '  I  express  myself  with  caution, 
lest  I  should  be  mistaken  to  vilify  reason,  which  is  indeed 
the   only  faculty  we  have  wherewith  to  judge  concern- 
ing anything,  even  revelation  itself ; '  a  man,  finally,  so 
deeply  and  evidently  in  earnest,  filled  with  so  awful  a 
sense  of  the  reality  of  things  and  of  the  madness  of  self- 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  65 


deception  :  '  Things  and  actions  are  what  they  are,  and 
the  consequences  of  them  will  be  what  they  will  be  ; 
why  then  should  we  desire  to  be  deceived?' — such  a 
man,  even  if  he  was  somewhat  despotically  imposed  upon 
our  youth,  may  yet  well  challenge  the  most  grave  consi- 
deration from  our  mature  manhood.  And  even  did  we 
fail  to  give  it  willingly,  the  strong  consenting  eulogy 
upon  his  achievements  would  extort  it  from  us.  It  is 
asserted  that  his  three  Sermons  on  Human  Nature  are,  in 
the  department  of  moral  philosophy,  '  perhaps  the  three 
most  valuable  essays  that  were  ever  published.'  They 
are  this,  because  they  contain  his  famous  doctrine  of 
conscience, — a  doctrine  which,  being  in  those  sermons 
'  explamed  according  to  the  strict  truth  of  our  mental  con- 
stitution, is  irresistible.'  Butler  is  therefore  said,  in  the 
words  of  another  of  his  admirers,  '  by  pursuing  precisely 
the  same  mode  of  reasoning  in  the  science  of  morals  as 
his  great  predecessor  Newton  had  done  in  the  system  of 
nature,  to  have  formed  and  concluded  a  happy  alliance 
between  faith  and  philosophy.'  And  again  :  '  Meta- 
physic,  which  all  then  had  nothing  to  support  it  but  mere 
abstraction  or  shadowy  speculation,  Butler  placed  on  the 
firm  basis  of  observation  and  experiment.'  And  Sir  James 
Mackintosh  says  of  the  Sermons  in  general  :  '  In  these 
sermons  Butler  has  taught  truths  more  capable  of  being 

F 


66  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

exactly  distinguished  from  the  doctrines  of  his  prede- 
cessors, more  satisfactorily  established  by  him,  more 
comprehensively  applied  to  particulars,  more  rationally 
connected  with  each  other,  and  therefore  more  worthy 
of  the  name  of  discovery,  than  any  with  which  we  are 
acquainted,  if  we  ought  not,  with  some  hesitation,  to 
except  the  first  steps  of  the  Grecian  philosophers  towards 
a  theory  of  morals.'  The  Analogy  Mackintosh  calls 
'  the  most  original  and  profound  work  extant  in  any 
language  on  the  philosophy  of  religion.'  Such  are 
Butler's  claims  upon  our  attention. 

It  is  true,  there  are  moments  when  the  philosophy  of 
religion  and  the  theory  of  morals  are  not  popular  subjects, 
when  men  seem  disposed  to  put  them  out  of  their  minds, 
to  shelve  them  as  sterile,  to  try  whether  they  cannot  get 
on  without  them.  Mr.  John  Morley,  in  that  interesting 
series  of  articles  on  Diderot  which  he  has  lately  published 
in  the  Fortnightly  Revieiv^  points  out  how  characteristic 
and  popular  in  the  French  Encyclopaedia  was  its  authors' 
'  earnest  enthusiasm  for  all  the  purposes,  intents,  and 
details  of  productive  industry,  for  physical  science  and  the 
practical  arts ; '  how  this  was  felt  to  be  a  welcome  relief 
to  people  tired  of  metaphysical  and  religious  discussions. 
*  Intellectually,'  says  he,  '  it  was  the  substitution  of  interest 
in   things   for  interest    in   words.'      And    undoubtedly 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  67 

there   are   times  when  a   reaction  of  this   sort  sets   in, 
when  an  interest  in  the  processes  of  productive  industry, 
in  physical  science  and  the  practical  arts,  is  called  an 
interest  i7t  things,  and  an  interest  in  morals  and  religion  is 
called  aji  interest  in  ivords.     People  really  do  seem  to 
imagine  that  in  seeing  and  learning  how  buttons  are  made, 
or  papier  77idche,  they  shall  find  some  new  and  untried 
vital  resource  ;  that  our  prospects  from  this  sort  of  study 
have  something  peculiarly  hopeful  and  animating  about 
them,  and  that  the  positive  and  practical  thing  to  do  is 
to   give  up  religion   and   turn   to  them.     However,    as 
Butler  says  in  his  sermon  on  Self-Deceit  :  '  Religion  is 
true,  or  it  is  not.     If  it  be  not,  there  is  no  reason  for  any 
concern  about  it.'     If,  however,  it  be  true,  it  is  impor- 
tant, and  then   it   requires   attention ;  as   in  the    same 
sermon  Butler  says,  in  his  serious  way  :  *  We  cannot  be 
acquainted  with,   nor  in  any  propriety  of  speech  be  said 
to  know,  anything   but   what   we   attend   to.'     And   he 
speaks  of  the  disregard  of  men  for  what  he  calls  '  the 
reproofs  and  instructions '  that  they  meet  with  in  religion 
and  morals,  as  a  disregard  of  what  is '  exactly  suitable  to 
the  state  of  their  own  mind  and   the   course  of  their 
behaviour ; ' — more    suitable,   he   would   certainly   have 
thought,  than  being  instructed  how  buttons  are  made,  or 
papier  mache.     I  am  entirely  of  Butler's  opinion.     And 

F  2 


68  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND] 

though  the  posture  of  mind  of  a  good  many  clever 
persons  at  the  present  day  is  that  of  the  French  Ency- 
clopaedists, yet  here  in  the  capital  of  Scotland,  of  that 
country  which  has  been  such  a  stronghold  of  what  I  call 
*  Hebraism,'  of  deep  and  ardent  occupation  with  righteous- 
ness and  religion,  you  will  not  complain  of  my  taking  for 
my  subject  so  eminent  a  doctor  in  the  science  of  these 
matters  as  Butler,  and  one  who  is  said  to  have  esta- 
bhshed  his  doctrine  so  firmly  and  impregnably.  I  can 
conceive  no  claim  more  great  to  advance  on  a  man's 
behalf,  and  none  which  it  more  behoves  us  to  test  accu- 
rately. Let  us  attempt  to  satisfy  ourselves  how  far,  in 
Butler's  case,  the  claim  is  solid. 


But  first  we  should  have  before  our  minds  a  notion 
of  the  life  and  circumstances  of  the  man  with  whose 
works  we  are  going  to  deal.  Joseph  Butler  was  bom  on 
the  1 8th  of  May,  1692,  at  Wantage,  in  Berkshire.  His 
father  was  a  retired  tradesman,  a  Dissenter,  and  the  son 
was  sent  to  a  Dissenting  school.  Even  before  he  left 
school,  he  had  his  first  correspondence  with  Dr.  Samuel 
Clarke  on  certain  points  in  Clarke's  DcmonstratioJi  of  the 
Being  and  Attributes  of  God,  and  he  ^\TOte  to  a  friend 
that  he  '  designed  to  make  truth  the  business  of  his  Hfe.' 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  69 

Dissent  did  not  satisfy  him.  He  left  the  Presbyterian 
body,  to  which  his  father  belonged,  and  was  entered,  in 
1714,  at  Oxford,  at  Oriel  College.  There  he  formed  a 
friendship  with  Edward  Talbot,  a  Fellow  of  Oriel,  son  of 
Bishop  Talbot,  and  brother  to  the  future  Lord  Chancellor 
Talbot ;  and  this  friendship  determined  the  outward  course 
of  Butler's  life.  It  led  to  his  being  appointed  preacher 
at  the  Rolls  Chapel,  in  17 19,  the  year  after  his  ordination 
as  priest,  and  when  he  was  only  twenty-six  years  old. 
There  the  famous  Sermons  were  preached,  between  17 19 
and  1726.  Bishop  Talbot  appointed  him,  in  1722,  to 
the  living  of  Haughton,  in  the  diocese  of  Durham  ;  and, 
in  1725,  transferred  him  to  the  rich  living  of  Stanhope,  in 
the  same  diocese.  After  obtaining  Stanhope,  Butler 
resigned,  in  1726,  his  preachership  at  the  Rolls,  and 
published  his  P'ifteen  Sermons,  They  made  no  noise. 
It  was  four  years  before  a  second  edition  of  them  was  re- 
quired. Butler,  however,  had  friends  who  knew  his  worth, 
and  in  1733  he  was  made  chaplain  to  Lord  Chancellor 
Talbot,  in  1736  Clerk  of  the  Closet  to  Queen  Caroline, 
the  wife  of  George  the  Second.  In  this  year  he  published 
the  Afialogy.  Queen  Caroline  died  the  year  afterwards, 
and  Butler  returned  to  Stanhope.  But  Queen  Caroline 
had,  before  her  death,  strongly  recommended  him  to  her 
husband  ;  and  George  the  Second,  in   1738,  made  him 


70  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

Bishop  of  Bristol,  then  the  poorest  of  sees,  with  an 
income  of  but  some  400/.  a  year.  About  eighteen 
months  afterwards,  Butler  was  appointed  to  the  deanery 
of  St.  Paul's,  when  he  resigned  Stanhope  and  passed  his 
time  between  Bristol  and  London,  acquiring  a  house  at 
Hampstead.  He  attended  the  House  of  Lords  regularly, 
but  took  no  part,  so  far  as  is  known,  in  the  debates.  In 
1746  he  was  made  Clerk  of  the  Closet  to  the  King,  and 
in  1750  he  was  translated  to  the  great  and  rich  see  of 
Durham.  Butler's  health  had  by  this  time  given  way.  In 
1 75 1  he  dehvered  his  first  and  only  charge  to  the  clergy 
of  Durham,  the  famous  Charge  upon  the  Use  and  Im- 
portance of  External  Religion.  But  in  June,  1752,  he  was 
taken  in  a  state  of  extreme  weakness  to  Bath,  died  • 
there  on  the  i6th  of  June,  and  was  buried  in  his  old 
cathedral  of  Bristol.  When  he  died,  he  was  just  sixty 
years  of  age.     He  was  never  married. 

Such  are,  in  outline,  the  external  facts  of  Butler's 
life  and  history.  To  fill  up  the  outline  for  us  there 
remain  a  very  few  anecdotes,  and  one  or  two  letters. 
Bishop  Philpotts,  of  Exeter,  who  afterwards  followed 
Butler  in  the  living  of  Stanhope,  sought  eagerly  at  Stan- 
hope for  some  traditions  of  his  great  predecessor.  All  he 
could  gather  was,  that  Butler  had  been  much  beloved, 
that  he  rode  about  on  a  black  pony  and  rode  very  fast. 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  Ji 


and  that  he  was  greatly  pestered  by  beggars  because  of 
his  known  easiness.  But  there  has  been  preserved 
Butler's  letter  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole  on  accepting  the 
see  of  Bristol,  and  a  passage  in  this  letter  is  curious,  as 
coming  from  such  a  man.  He  expresses  his  gratitude  to 
the  King,  and  then  proceeds  thus  : — 

I  know  no  greater  obligation  than  to  find  the  Queen's  con- 
descending goodness  and  kind  intentions  towards  me  trans- 
ferred to  his  Majesty.  Nor  is  it  possible,  while  I  live,  to  be 
without  the  most  grateful  sense  of  his  favour  to  me,  whether 
the  effects  of  it  be  greater  or  less  ;  for  this  must,  in  some 
measures,  depend  upon  accident.  Indeed,  the  bishopric  of 
Bristol  is  not  very  suitable  either  to  the  condition  of  my 
fortune  or  the  circumstances,  nor,  as  I  should  have  thought, 
answerable  to  the  recommendation  with  which  I  was  honoured. 
But  you  will  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  think  of  this  last  with  greater 
sensibihty  than  the  conduct  of  affairs  will  admit  of  But 
without  entering  further  into  detail,  I  desire,  sir,  you  will 
please  let  his  Majesty  know  that  I  humbly  accept  this  instance 
of  his  favour  with  the  utmost  possible  gratitude. 

As  one  reads  that  passage,  it  is  impossible  not  to 
have  the  feeling  that  we  are  in  the  somewhat  arid  air  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  Ken  or  Leighton,  in  the  seven- 
teenth century,  could  not  have  written  it ;  and  in  Butler's 
own  century  that  survivor  of  the  saints,  Wilson  of  Sodor 
and  Man,  could  not  have  written  it.  And  indeed  the 
peculiar  delicacy  and  loveliness  which  attaches   to   our 


72  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

idea  of  a  saint  does  not  belong  to  Butler.  Nobly 
severe  with  himself  he  was,  his  eye  was  single.  Austerely 
just,  he  follows  with  awe-filled  observance  the  way  of 
duty ; — this  is  his  stamp  of  character.  And  his  liberality 
and  his  treatment  of  patronage,  even  though  we  may  not 
find  in  him  the  delicacy  of  the  saint,  are  yet  thorough 
and  admirable  because  they  are  determined  by  this 
character.  He  said  to  his  secretary :  '  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  myself  if  I  could  leave  ten  thousand  pounds 
behind  me.'  There  is  a  story  of  a  man  coming  to  him 
at  Durham  with  a  project  for  some  good  work.  The 
plan  struck  Butler's  mind  ;  he  sent  for  his  house-steward, 
and  asked  him  how  much  money  there  was  in  his  hands. 
The  steward  answered  that  he  had  five  hundred  pounds. 
'  Five  hundred  pounds  !'  said  Butler,  'what  a  shame  for  a 
bishop  to  have  so  much  money !  Give  it  away,  give  it  all 
to  this  gentleman  for  his  charitable  plan  ! '  Open  house 
and  plain  living  were  Butler's  rule  at  Durham.  He  had 
long  been  disgusted,  he  said,  with  the  fashionable  expense 
of  time  and  money  in  entertainments,  and  was  determined 
it  should  receive  no  countenance  from  his  example.  He 
writes  to  one  who  congratulated  him  on  his  translation  to 
Durham  :  '  If  one  is  enabled  to  do  a  httle  good,  and  to 
prefer  worthy  men,  this  indeed  is  a  valuable  of  life,  and 
will  afford  satisfaction  at  the  close  of  it  ;  but  the  station 


THE  ZEIT-GKIST.  73 


of  itself  will  in  nowise  answer  the  trouble  of  it,  and  of 
getting  into  new  forms  of  living  ;  I  mean  in  respect  to 
the  peace  and  happiness  of  one's  own  mind,  for  ni 
fortune  to  be  sure  it  wall.'  Again  one  has  a  sense,  from 
something  in  the  phraseology  and  mode  of  expression, 
that  one  is  in  the  eighteenth  century ;  but  at  the  same 
time  what  a  perfect  impression  of  integrity  and  simplicity 
do  Butler's  words  leave  !  To  another  congratulator  he 
writes  : — 

I  thank  you  for  your  kind  congratulations,  though  I  am 
not  without  my  doubts  and  fears  how  far  the  occasion  of 
them  is  a  real  subject  of  congratulation  to  me.  Increase  of 
fortune  is  insignificant  to  one  who  thought  he  had  enough 
before  ;  and  I  foresee  many  difficulties  in  the  station  I  am 
coming  into,  and  no  advantage  worth  thinking  of,  except 
some  greater  power  of  being  serviceable  to  others  ;  and 
whether  this  be  an  advantage  depends  entirely  on  the  use 
one  shall  make  of  it  ;  I  pray  God  it  may  be  a  good  one.  It 
would  be  a  melancholy  thing,  in  the  close  of  life,  to  have  no 
reflexions  to  entertain  oneself  with  but  that  one  had  spent 
the  revenues  of  the  bishopric  of  Durham  in  a  sumptuous 
course  of  living,  and  enriched  one's  friends  with  the  pro- 
motions of  it,  instead  of  having  really  set  oneself  to  do  good, 
and  promote  worthy  men  ;  yet  this  right  use  of  fortune  and 
power  is  more  difficult  than  the  generaUty  of  even  good 
people  think,  and  requires  both  a  guard  upon  oneself,  and 
a  strength  of  mind  to  withstand  solicitations,  greater  (I  wish 
I  may  not  find  it)  than  I  am  master  of. 

There  are  not  half  a  dozen  of  Butler's  private  letters 


74  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

preserved.  It  was  worth  while,  therefore,  to  quote  his 
letter  to  Walpole ;  and  it  was  but  just,  after  quoting  that 
letter,  to  quote  this  to  his  congi-atulators. 

Like  Bishop  Philpotts,  one  may  well  be  tantahsed  at 
not  knowing  more  of  a  man  so  full  of  purpose,  and  who 
has  made  his  mark  so  deeply.     Butler  himself,  however, 
helped  to  baffle  us.     The  codicil  to  his  will,  made  in 
1752,    not    two   months    before   his    death,    concludes 
thus  : — '  It  is  my  positive  and  express  will,  that  all  my 
sermons,  letters,   and  papers  whatever,   which  are  in   a 
deal   box,    locked,    directed    to    Dr.    Forster,    and   now 
standing  in  the  little  room  within  my  library  at  Hamp- 
stead,  be  burnt  without  being  read  by  any  one,  as  soon 
as  may  be  after  my  decease.'     His  silent',  inward,  con- 
centrated  nature   pondered   well   and   decided   what   it 
meant  to  give  to  the  world  \ — gave  it,  and  would  give  no 
more.     A  characteristic  habit  is  mentioned  of  him,  that 
he  loved  to  walk  alone,  and  to  walk  at  night.     He  was 
an  immense  reader.     It  is  said  of  him  that  he  read  every 
book   he   could   lay   his   hands   upon  ;    but   it   was   all 
digested  silently,  not  exhibited  in  the  way  of  extract  and 
citation.      Unlike  the  seventeenth  century    divines,    he 
hardly  ever  quotes.     As  to  his  tastes  and  habits,  we  are 
informed,  further,  tliat  he  was  fond  of  religious  music, 
and  took   for  his  under-secretary  an  ex-chorister  of  St_ 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  75 

Paul's,  that  he  might  play  to  him  upon  the  organ.  He 
liked  building  and  planting,  and  one  of  his  few  letters 
preserved  bears  witness  to  these  tastes,  and  is  altogether 
so  characteristic,  and,  in  the  paucity  of  records  con- 
cerning Butler,  so  valuable,  that  I  will  quote  it.  It  is  to 
the  Duchess  of  Somerset,  and  written  in  1 751,  just  after 
he  had  taken  possession  of  the  see  of  Durham  :  — 

I  had  a  mind  to  see  Auckland  before  I  wrote  to  your 
Grace  ;  and  as  you  take  so  kind  a  part  in  everything  which 
contributes  to  my  satisfaction,  I  am  sure  you  will  be  pleased 
to  hear  that  the  place  is  a  very  agreeable  one,  and  fully 
answering  expectations,  except  that  one  of  the  chief  prospects, 
which  is  very  pretty  (the  river  Wear,  with  hills  much  diver- 
sified rising  above  it),  is  too  bare  of  wood  ;  the  park,  not 
much  amiss  as  to  that,  but  I  am  obliged  to  pale  it  anew 
all  round,  the  old  pale  being  quite  decayed.  This  will  give 
an  opportunity,  with  which  I  am  much  pleased,  to  take  in 
forty  or  fifty  acres  completely  wooded,  though  with  that 
enlargement  it  will  scarce  be  sufficient  for  the  hospitality  of 
the  country.  These,  with  some  little  improvements  and  very 
great  repairs,  take  up  my  leisure  time. 

Thus,  madam,  I  seem  to  have  laid  out  a  very  long  life  for 
myself;  yet,  in  reality,  everything  I  see  puts  me  in  mind  of 
the  shortness  and  uncertainty  of  it  :  the  arms  and  inscriptions 
of  my  predecessors,  what  they  did  and  what  they  neglected, 
and  (from  accidental  circumstances)  the  very  place  itself,  and 
the  rooms  I  walk  through  and  sit  in.  And  when  I  consider,  in 
one  view,  the  many  things  of  the  kind  I  have  just  mentioned 
which  I  have  upon  my  hands,  I  feel  the  burlesque  of  being 
employed  in  this  manner  at  my  time  of  life.     But  in  another 


76  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

view,  and  taking  in  all  circumstances,  these  things,  as  trifling 
as  they  may  appear,  no  less  than  things  of  greater  importance, 
seem  to  be  put  upon  me  to  do,  or  at  least  to  begin  ;  whether 
I  am  to  live  to  complete  any  or  all  of  them,  is  not  my  concern. 

With  Butler's  taste  for  building  and  improving  is 
connected  a  notable  incident.  While  at  Bristol  he 
restored  the  episcopal  palace  and  chapel,  and  in  the 
chapel  he  put  up  an  altar-piece,  which  is  described  as 
'  of  black  marble,  inlaid  with  a  milk-white  cross  of  white 
marble,  which  is  plain,  and  has  a  good  effect.'  For 
those  bare  Hanoverian  times  this  was  a  reredos  case. 
Butler's  cross  excited  astonishment  and  gave  offence,  and 
Lord  Chancellor  Hardwicke  begged  a  subsequent  Bishop 
of  Bristol,  Dr.  Young,  to  have  it  taken  down.  Young 
made  the  excellent  answer,  that  it  should  never  be  said 
that  Bishop  Young  had  pulled  down  what  Bishop  Butler 
had  set  up  ;  and  the  cross  remained  until  the  palace  was 
burnt  and  the  marble  altar-piece  destroyed  in  the  Bristol 
riots  in  1831.  But  the  erection  of  this  cross  w^as  con- 
nected with  his  remarks,  in  his  Durham  Charge,  on  the 
Use  and  Importance  of  External  Religion,  and  caused  it  to 
be  reported  that  Butler  had  died  in  the  communion  of  the 
Church  of  Rome.  Pamphleteers  and  newspaper-writers 
handled  the  topic  in  the  style  which  we  know  so  well. 
Archbishop  Seeker  thought  it  necessary  to  write  in  denial 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  yy 

of  his  friend's  perversion,  owning,  as  he  did  so,  that  for 
himself  he  wished  the  cross  had  not  been  put  up.  And 
Butler's  accuser  replied,  as  '  Phileleutheros,'  to  Seeker, 
that  '  such  anecdote  had  been  given  him,  and  that  he  was 
yet  of  opinion  there  is  not  anything  improbable  in  it, 
when  it  is  considered  that  the  same  prelate  put  up  the 
Popish  insignia  of  the  cross  in  his  chapel,  when  at 
Bristol ;  and  in  his  last  episcopal  charge  has  squinted 
very  much  towards  that  superstition.'  Another  writer  not 
only  maintained  that  the  cross  and  the  Durham  charge  to- 
gether '  amounted  to  full  proof  of  a  strong  attachment  to 
the  idolatrous  communion  of  the  Church  of  Rome,'  but 
volunteered  to  account  for  Butler's  '  tendency  this  way,' 
as  he  called  it.  This  he  did  '  from  the  natural  melan- 
choly and  gloominess  of  Dr.  Butler's  disposition,  from 
his  great  fondness  for  the  lives  of  Romish  saints,  and 
their  books  of  mystic  piety  ;  from  his  drawing  his  notions 
of  teaching  men  religion,  not  from  the  New  Testament, 
but  from  philosophical  and  political  opinions  of  his  own ; 
and,  above  all,  from  his  transition  from  a  strict  Dissenter 
amongst  the  Presbyterians  to  a  rigid  Churchman,  and  his 
sudden  and  unexpected  elevation  to  great  wealth  and 
dignity  in  the  Church.'  It  was  impossible  that  Butler 
should  be  understood  by  the  ordinary  religious  world 
of  his  own  day.     But  no  intelligent  man  can  now  read 


78  BISHOP   BUTLER   AND 

the  Durham  charge  without  feeUng  that  its  utterer  Uves 
in  a  higher  world  than  that  in  which  disputes  between 
Cathohcism  and  Protestantism,  and  questions  of  going 
over  to  Rome,  or  at  any  rate  '  squinting  very  much 
towards  that  superstition,'  have  their  being.  Butler 
speaks  as  a  man  with  an  awful  sense  of  religion,  yet 
plainly  seeing,  as  he  says,  '  the  deplorable  distinction '  of 
his  own  age  to  be  '  an  avowed  scorn  of  religion  in  some, 
and  a  growing  disregard  to  it  in  the  generality.'  He 
speaks,  with  '  the  immoral  thoughtlessness,'  as  he  called 
it,  of  the  bulk  of  mankind  astounding  and  grieving  his 
soul,  and  with  the  single  desire  '  to  beget  a  practical 
sense  of  religion  upon  their  hearts.'  '  The  form  of 
rehgion,'  he  says,  with  his  invincible  sense  for  reality, 
'  may  indeed  be  where  there  is  little  of  the  thing  itself ; 
but  the  thing  itself  cannot  be  preserved  amongst  man- 
kind without  the  form.'  And  the  form  he  exhorts  to  is 
no  more  than  what  nowadays  all  religious  people  would 
think  matter  of  course  to  be  practised,  and  where  not 
practised,  to  be  enjoined  :  family  prayer,  grace  at  meals, 
that  the  clergy  should  visit  their  parishioners  and  should 
lay  hold  of  natural  opportunities,  such  as  confirmation 
or  sickness,  for  serious  conversation  with  them  and  for 
turning  their  thoughts  towards  religion. 

Butler  met  John  Wesley,  and  one  would  like  to  have  a 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  79 

full  record  of  what  passed  at  such  a  meeting.  But  all  that 
we  know  is  this  :  that  when  Butler  was  at  Bristol,  Wesley, 
who  admired  the  Analogy^  and  who  was  then  preaching 
to  the  Kingswood  miners,  had  an  intei-view  with  him ; 
and  that  Butler  'expressed  his  pleasure  at  the  seriousness 
which  Wesley's  preaching  awakened,  but  blamed  him  for 
sanctioning  that  violent  physical  excitement  which  was 
considered  almost  a  necessary  part  of  the  so-called  new 
birth.' 

I  have  kept  for  the  last  the  description  we  have  from 
Surtees,  the  historian  of  Durham,  of  Butler's  person  and 
manners  : — 

'  During  the  short  time  that  he  held  the  see,'  says  Surtees, 
*  he  conciliated  all  hearts.  In  advanced  years  and  on  the 
episcopal  throne,  he  retained  the  same  genuine  modesty  and 
native  sweetness  of  disposition  which  had  distinguished  him 
in  youth  and  in  retirement.  During  the  ministerial  per- 
formance of  the  sacred  office,  a  divine  animation  seemed  to 
pervade  his  whole  manner,  and  lighted  up  his  pale,  wan 
countenance,  already  marked  with  the  progress  of  disease.' 

From  another  source  w^e  hear  : — 

He  was  of  a  most  reverend  aspect ;— his  face  thin  and 
pale,  but  there  was  a  divine  placidness  in  his  countenance, 
which  inspired  veneration  and  expressed  the  most  benevolent 
mind.  His  white  hair  hung  gracefully  on  his  shoulders,  and 
his  whole  figure  was  patriarchal. 

This  description  would  not  ill  suit  Wesley  himself,  and 


8o  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

it  may  be  thought,  perhaps,  that  here  at  any  rate,  if  not  in 
the  letter  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  we  find  the  saint.  And, 
doubtless,  where  the  eye  is  so  single  and  the  thoughts 
are  so  chastened  as  they  were  with  Butler,  the  saintly 
character  will  never  be  far  off.  But  still  the  total  impres- 
sion left  by  Butler  is  not  exactly,  I  repeat,  that  of  a  saint. 
Butler  stood  alone  in  his  time  and  amongst  his  gene- 
ration. Yet  the  most  cursory  reader  can  perceive  that, 
in  his  writings,  there  is  constant  reference  to  the  con- 
troversies of  his  time,  and  to  the  men  of  his  generation. 
He  himself  has  pointed  this  out  as  a  possible  cause  of 
obscurity.  In  the  preface  to  the  second  edition  of  his 
Sermons  he  says  : — 

A  subject  may  be  treated  in  a  manner  which  all  along 
supposes  the  reader  acquainted  with  what  has  been  said  upon 
it  both  by  ancient  and  modern  writers,  and  with  what  is  the 
present  state  of  opinion  in  the  world  concerning  such  subject. 
This  will  create  a  difficulty  of  a  very  peculiar  kind,  and  even 
throw  an  obscurity  over  the  whole  before  those  who  are  not 
thus  informed  ;  but  those  who  are,  will  be  disposed  to  excuse 
such  a  manner,  and  other  things  of  the  like  kind,  as  a  saving 
of  their  patience. 

This  reference  to  contemporary  opinion,  if  it  some- 
times occasions  difficulty  in  following  Butler,  makes  his 
treatment  of  his  subject  more  real  and  earnest.  Nearly 
always  he  has  in  mind  something  with  which  he  has 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  8i 


actually  come  in  conflict.  When  he  recurs  so  persist- 
ently to  self-love,  he  is  thinking  of  the  ''  strange  affectation 
in  many  people  of  explaining  away  all  particular  affec- 
tions, and  representing  the  whole  of  life  as  nothing  but 
one  continual  exercise  of  self-love,'  by  which  he  had  so 
often  been  made  impatient.  One  of  the  signal  merits  of 
Mr.  Pattison's  admirable  sketch,  in  Essays  and  Reviews, 
of  the  course  of  reHgious  ideas  in  England  from  the  Revo- 
lution to  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  is  that  it 
so  clearly  marks  this  correspondence,  at  the  time  when 
Butler  wrote,  between  what  English  society  argued  and 
what  English  theology  answered.  Society  was  full  of  dis- 
cussions about  religion,  of  objections  to  eternal  punish- 
ment as  inconsistent  with  the  Divine  goodness,  and  to  a 
system  of  future  rewards  as  subversive  of  a  disinterested 
love  of  virtue  : — 

'The  deistical  writers,'  says  Mr.  Pattison,  'formed  the 
atmosphere  which  educated  people  breathed.  The  objections 
the  Analogy  meets  are  not  new  and  unreasoned  objections, 
but  such  as  had  worn  well,  and  had  borne  the  rub  of  con- 
troversy, because  they  were  genuine.  It  was  in  society,  and 
not  in  his  study,  that  Butler  had  learned  the  weight  of  the 
deistical  arguments.' 

And  in  a  further  sentence  Mr.  Pattison,  in  my  opinion, 
has  almost  certainly  put  his  finger  on  the  very  determining 
cause  of  the  Analogy's  existence  : — 

G 


BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


At  the  Queen's  philosophical  parties,  where  these  topics 
(the  deistical  objections)  were  canvassed  with  earnestness 
and  freedom,  Butler  must  often  have  felt  the  impotence  of 
reply  in  detail,  and  seen,  as  he  says,  '  how  impossible  it  must 
be,  in  a  cursory  conversation,  to  unite  all  into  one  argument, 
and  represent  it  as  it  ought  to  be.' 

This  connecting  of  the  Analogy  with  the  Queen's 
philosophical  parties  seems  to  me  an  idea  inspired  by 
true  critical  genius.  The  parties  given  by  Queen  Caro- 
line,— a  clever  and  strong-minded  woman, — the  recluse 
and  grave  Butler  had,  as  her  Clerk  of  the  Closet,  to 
attend  regularly.  Discussion  was  free  at  them,  and  there 
Butler  no  doubt  heard  in  abundance  the  talk  of  what  is 
well  described  as  the  'loose  kind  of  deism  which  was 
the  then  tone  of  fashionable  circles.'  The  Analogy^ 
with  its  peculiar  strain  and  temper,  is  the  result.  '  Cavil- 
ling and  objecting  upon  any  subject  is  much  easier  than 
clearing  up  difficulties  ;  and  this  last  part  will  always  be 
put  upon  the  defenders  of  religion.'  Surely  that  must  be 
a  reminiscence  of  the  '  loose  kind  of  deism '  and  of  its 
maintainers  !  And  then  comes  the  very  sentence  which 
Mr.  Pattison  has  in  part  quoted,  and  which  is  worth 
quoting  entire  :  — 

Then,  again,  the  general  evidence  of  religion  is  complex 
and  various.  It  consists  of  a  long  series  of  things,  one  pre- 
paratory and  confirming  another,  from  the  very  beginning  of 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  83 


the  world  to  the  present  time.  And  'tis  easy  to  see  how 
impossible  it  must  be,  in  a  cursory  conversation,  to  unite  all 
this  into  one  argument  and  represent  it  as  it  ought ;  and, 
could  it  be  done,  how  utterly  indisposed  people  would  be  to 
attend  to  it.  I  say  in  a  cursory  conversation,  whereas  un- 
connected objections  are  thrown  out  in  a  few  words  and  are 
easily  apprehended,  without  more  attention  than  is  usual  in 
common  talk.  So  that  notwithstanding  we  have  the  best 
cause  in  the  world,  and  though  a  man  were  very  capable  of 
defending  it,  yet  I  know  not  why  he  should  be  forward  to 
undertake  it  upon  so  great  a  disadvantage  and  to  so  little 
good  effect,  as  it  must  be  done  amidst  the  gaiety  and  careless- 
ness of  common  conversation. 

In  those  remarks  to  the  Durham  clergy,  Butler,  I  say 

again,  was  surely  thinking  of  difficulties  with  which  he 

had  himself  wrestled,   and  of  which   the  remembrance 

made  the  strenuous  tone  of  his  Analogy,  as  he  laboured 

at  it,  yet  more  strenuous.     What  a  scBva  indignatio  burns 

in  the  following   passage  from   the  conclusion   to   that 

work  : — 

Let  us  suppose  that  the  evidence  of  religion  in  general, 
and  of  Christianity,  has  been  seriously  inquired  into  by  all 
reasonable  men  among  us.  Yet  we  find  many  professedly 
to  reject  both,  upon  speculative  principles  of  infidelity.  And 
all  of  them  do  not  content  themselves  with  a  bare  neglect  of 
religion,  and  enjoying  their  imaginary  freedom  from  its 
restraints.  Some  go  much  beyond  this.  They  deride  God's 
moral  government  over  the  world.  They  renounce  his  pro- 
tection   and    defy  his    justice.      They  ridicule    and  vihfy 

G  2 


84  BISHOP  BUTLER   AND 

Christianity,  and  blaspheme  the  Author  of  it  ;  and  take  all 
occasions  to  manifest  a  scorn  and  contempt  of  revelation. 
This  amounts  to  an  active  setting  themselves  against 
religion,  to  what  may  be  considered  as  a  positive  principle 
of  irreligion,  which  they  cultivate  within  themselves,  and, 
whether  they  intend  this  effect  or  not,  render  habitual,  as  a 
good  man  does  the  contrary  principle.  And  others,  who  are 
not  chargeable  with  all  this  profligateness,  yet  are  in  avowed 
opposition  to  religion,  as  if  discovered  to  be  groundless. 

And  with  the  same  penetrating  tone  of  one  who  has 
seen  with  his  own  eyes  that  of  which  he  complains,  has 
heard  it  with  his  own  ears,  suffered  from  it  in  his  own  per- 
son, Butler,  in  1740,  talks  of  'the  dark  prospects  before  us 
from  that  profligateness  of  manners  and  scorn  of  religion 
which  so  generally  abound ; '  and,  in  1751,  speaking  in 
the  last  year  but  one  of  his  life,  he  thus  begins  his  charge 
to  the  clergy  of  Durham  : — 

It  is  impossible  for  me,  my  brethren,  upon  our  first  meet- 
ing of  this  kind,  to  forbear  lamenting  with  you  the  general 
decay  of  rehgion  in  this  nation,  which  is  now  observed  by 
everyone,  and  has  been  for  some  time  the  complaint  of  all 
serious  persons.  The  influence  of  it  is  more  and  more  wear- 
ing out  of  the  minds  of  men,  even  of  those  who  do  not  pretend 
to  enter  into  speculations  upon  the  subject.  But  the  number 
of  those  who  do,  and  who  profess  themselves  unbelievers, 
increases,  and  with  their  numbers  their  zeal. 

One  cannot  but  ask  oneself,  when  one  considers  the 
steadiness  of  our  country  through  the  French  Revolution, 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  85 

when  one  considers  the  power  and  prevalence  of  rehgion, 
even  after  every  deduction  has  been  made  for  what 
impairs  its  strength, — the  power  and  prevalence,  I  say,  of 
religion  in  our  country  at  this  hour, — one  cannot  but  ask 
oneself  whether  Butler  was  not  over-desponding,  whether 
he  saw  the  whole  real  state  of  things,  whether  he  did  not 
attach  over-importance  to  certain  workings  which  he  did 
see.  Granted  that  he  himself  did  something  to  cure  the 
evil  which  he  describes  ;  granted  that  others  did  some- 
thing. Yet,  had  the  evil  existed  fully  as  he  describes  it, 
I  doubt  whether  he,  and  Wesley,  and  all  the  other  phy- 
sicians, could  have  cured  it.  I  doubt,  even,  whether 
their  effort  would  itself  have  been  possible.  Look  at  a 
contemporary  of  Butler  in  France, — a  man  who,  more 
than  any  one  else,  reminds  me  of  Butler, — the  great 
French  statesman,  the  greatest,  in  my  opinion,  that 
France  has  ever  had ;  look  at  Turgot.  Turgot  was  like 
Butler  in  his  mental  energy,  in  his  deep  moral  and  intel- 
lectual ardour,  his  strenuousness.  '  Every  science,  every 
language,  every  literature,  every  business,'  says  Michelet, 
'  interested  Turgot.'  But  that  in  which  Turgot  most 
resembled  Butler  was  what  Michelet  calls  his  ferodte, — 
what  I  should  rather  call  his  scBva  indignatio.  Like 
Butler,  Turgot  was  filled  with  an  astonished,  awful, 
oppressive  sense   of  '  the   immoral   thoughtlessness '  of 


86  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

men  ;  of  the  heedless,  hazardous  way  in  which  they 
deal  with  things  of  the  greatest  moment  to  them  ;  of 
the  immense,  incalculable  misery  which  is  due  to  this 
cause.  '  The  greatest  evils  in  life,'  Turgot  held,  just  as 
Butler  did,  'have  had  their  rise  from  somewhat  A\hich 
was  thought  of  too  little  importance  to  be  attended  to.' 
And  for  these  serious  natures  religion,  one  would  think, 
is  the  line  of  labour  which  would  naturally  first  suggest 
itself.  And  Turgot  was  destined  for  the  Church  ;  he 
prepared  to  take  orders,  like  Butler.  But  in  1752,  when 
Butler  lay  dying  at  Bath,  Turgot, — the  true  spiritual  yoke- 
fellow of  Butler,  with  Butler's  sacred  horror  at  men's 
frivolity,  with  Butler's  sacred  ardour  for  rescuing  them 
from  the  consequences  of  it, — Turgot,  at  the  age  of 
twenty-five,  could  stand  religion,  as  in  France  religion  then 
presented  itself  to  him,  no  longer.  '  //  jcta  ce  masque^ 
says  Michelet,  adopting  an  expression  of  Turgot's  own  ; 
'  he  flung  away  that  mask.'  He  took  to  the  work  of 
civil  government ;  in  what  spirit  we  many  of  us  know, 
and  whoever  of  us  does  not  know  should  make  it  his 
business  to  learn.  Nine  years  afterwards  began"  his 
glorious  administration  as  Intendant  of  the  Limousin,  in 
which  for  thirteen  years  he  showed  what  manner  of  spirit 
he  was  of.  When,  in  1774,  he  became  Minister  and 
Controller-General,  he  showed  the  same  thing  on  a  more 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  87 

conspicuous  stage.  '  Whatsoever  things  are  true,  what- 
soever things  are  nobly  serious,  whatsoever  things  are 
just,  whatsoever  things  are  pure,  whatsoever  things  are 
of  good  report,' — that  is  the  history  of  Turgot's  ad- 
ministration !  He  was  a  Joseph  Butler  in  government. 
True,  his  work,  though  done  as  secular  administration, 
has  in  fact  and  reality  a  religious  character  ;  all  work 
like  his  has  a  religious  character.  But  the  point  to  seize 
is  here  :  that  in  our  country,  in  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  a  man  like  Butler  is  still  possible  in 
religion  ;  in  France  he  is  only  possible  in  civil  govern 
ment.  And  that  is  what  I  call  a  true  '  decay  of  religion, 
the  influence  of  it  more  and  more  wearing  out  of  the 
minds  of  men.'  The  very  existence  and  work  of  Butler 
proves,  in  spite  of  his  own  desponding  words,  that  mat- 
ters had  not  in  his  time  gone  so  far  as  this  in  England. 

But  indeed  Mr.  Pattison,  in  the  admirable  essay 
w^hich  I  have  mentioned,  supplies  us  with  almost  positive 
evidence  that  it  had  not.  Amongst  a  number  of  in- 
structive quotations  to  show  the  state  of  religion  in 
England  between  1700  and  1750,  Mr.  Pattison  gives  an 
extract  from,  a  violent  newspaper.  The  Independent  Whig, 
which  had  been  attacking  the  clergy  for  their  many  and 
great  offences,  and  counselling  them  to  mend  their  ways. 
And  then  the  article  goes  on  : — 


88  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

The  High  Church  Popish  clergy  Avill  laugh  ia their  sleeves 
at  this  advice,  and  think  there  is  folly  enough  yet  left  among 
the  laity  to  support  their  authority  ;  and  will  hug  themselves, 
and  rejoice  over  the  ignorance  of  the  Universities,  the 
stupidity  of  the  drunken  squires,  the  panic  of  the  tender  sex, 
and  the  never-to-be  shaken  co7istancy  of  the  jnultitnde. 

The  date  of  that  extract  is  1720.  The  language  is  the 
well-known  language  of  Liberal  friends  of  progress,  when 
they  speak  of  persons  and  institutions  which  are  incon- 
venient to  them.  But  it  proves,  to  my  mind, — and  there 
is  plenty  cf  other  evidence  to  prove  the  same  thing, — it 
proves  that  religion,  whatever  may  have  been  the  deficien- 
cies of  itself  and  of  its  friends,  was  nevertheless,  in  1720, 
still  a  very  great  and  serious  power  in  this  country.  And 
certainly  it  did  not  suddenly  cease  to  be  so  between 
1720  and  1750. 

No,  Butler's  mournful  language  has  in  it,  one  may  be 
almost  certain,  something  of  exaggeration.  To  a  man  of 
Butler's  seriousness  the  world  will  always  afford  plenty 
of  matter  for  apprehension  and  sorrow.  And  to  add  to 
this  were  certain  special  circumstances  of  his  time,  pecu- 
liarly trying  to  an  earnest  dealer,  such  as  he  was,  with 
great  thoughts  and  great  interests.  There  was  his  bitter 
personal  experience  of  *  the  loose  kind  of  deism  which 
was  the  tone  of  fashionable  circles.'  There  was  his 
impatience. — half  contemptuous,   half  indignant, — of  a 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  89 

state  of  things  where,  as  Mr.  Pattison  says,  '•  the  rehgious 
writer  had  now  to  appear  at  the  bar  of  criticism,'  but  of 
such  criticism  !  For,  '  if  ever  there  was  a  time,'  says  Mr. 
Pattison,  again,  '  when  abstract  speculation  was  brought 
down  from  inaccessible  heights  and  compelled  to  be  in- 
telligible, it  was  the  period  from  the  Revolution  to  1750.' 
This  in  itself  was  all  very  good,  and  Butler  would  have 
been  the  last  man  to  wish  it  otherwise.  But  to  whom 
was  abstract  speculation  required  thus  to  make  itself  in- 
telligible ?  To  the  '  fashionable  circles,'  to  the  whole 
multitude  of  loose  thinkers  and  loose  livers,  who  might 
choose  to  lend  half  an  ear  for  half  an  hour  to  the  great 
argument.  '  It  must  gain,'  we  are  told,  '  the  wits  and 
the  town.'     Hence  the  sceva  indignatio. 

And  therefore  Butler,  when  he  gets  into  the  pulpit, 
or  when  he  sits  down  at  his  writing-table,  will  have  the 
thing  out  with  his  adversaries.  He  will  '  unite  it  all  into 
one  argument  and  represent  it  as  it  ought,'  and  he  will 
fairly  argue  his  objectors  down.  He  will  place  himselt 
on  their  own  ground,  take,  their  own  admissions,  and 
will  prove  to  them,  in  a  manner  irresistible  to  any  fair 
thinker,  that  they  are  wrong,  and  that  they  are  bound  to 
make  their  life  and  practice,  what  it  is  not,  religious. 

There  is  a  word  which  I  have  often  used,  and  with 
my  use   of  which   some   of   those   who   hear  me   may 


90  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

possibly  be  familiar  :  the  Greek  word  epieikes  or  epieikeia^ 
meaning  that  which  is  at  once  reasonable  and  prepos- 
sessing, or  '  sweet  reasonableness.'    The  original  meaning 
of  the  word  epieikes  is,  that  which  has  an  air  of  consum- 
mate truth  and  likelihood,  and  which,  by  virtue  of  having 
this  air,  is  prepossessing.     And  epieikeia  is  well  rendered 
by  '  sweet  reasonableness,'  because  that  which  above  all 
things  has  an  air  of  truth  and  likelihood,  that  which,  there- 
fore, above  all  things,  is  prepossessing,  is  whatever  is 
sweetly  reasonable.     You  know  what  a  power  was  this 
quality  in   the  talkings   and   dealings   of  Jesus    Christ. 
Epieikeia  is  the  very  word  to  characterise  true  Christianity. 
And  true  Christianity  wins,  not  by  an  argumentative  vic- 
tory, not  by  going  through  a  long  debate  with  a  person, 
examining  the  arguments  for  his  case  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  making  him  confess  that,  whether  he  feels  dis- 
posed to  yield  or  no,  yet  in  fair  logic  and  fair  reason  he 
ought  to  yield.    No,  but  it  puts  something  which  tends  to 
transform  him  and  his  practice,  it  puts  this  particular  thing 
in  such  a  way  before  a  man  that  he  feels  disposed  and 
eager  to  lay  hold  of  it.     And  he  does,  therefore,  lay  hold 
of  it,  though  without  at  all  perceiving,  very  often,   the 
whole  scheme  to  which  jt  belongs  ;  and  thus  his  practice 
gets  changed.    This,  I  think,  every  one  will  admit  to  be 
Christianity's  most  true  and  characteristic  way  of  getting 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  91 

people  to  embrace  religion.  Now,  it  is  to  be  observed 
how  totally  unlike  a  way  it  is  to  Butler's,  although  Butler's 
object  is  the  same  as  Christianity's  :  to  get  people  to  em- 
brace religion.  And  the  object  being  the  same,  it  must 
strike  every  one  that  the  way  followed  by  Christianity  has 
the  advantage  of  a  far  greater  effectualness  than  Butler's 
way  ;  since  people  are  much  more  easily  attracted  into 
making  a  change  than  argued  into  it.  However,  Butler 
seems  to  think  that  enough  has  been  done  if  it  has  been 
proved  to  people,  in  such  a  way  as  to  silence  their  argu- 
ments on  the  other  side,  that  they  ought  to  make  a 
change.     For  he  says  expressly  : — 

There  being,  as  I  have  shown,  such  evidence  for  religion 
as  is  sufficient  in  reason  to  influence  men  to  embrace  it,  to 
object  that  it  is  not  to  be  imagined  mankind  will  be  in- 
fluenced by  such  evidence  is  nothing  to  the  purpose  of  the 
foregoing  treatise  (his  Analogy).  For  the  purpose  of  it  is 
not  to  inquire  what  sort  of  creatures  mankind  are,  but  what 
the  light  and  knowledge  which  is  afforded  them  requires  they 
should  be  ;  to  show  how  in  reason  they  ought  to  behave,  not 
how  in  fact  they  will  behave.  This  depends  upon  themselves 
and  is  their  own  concern— the  personal  concern  of  each  man  in 
particular.  And  how  little  regard  the  generality  have  to  it, 
experience,  indeed,  does  too  fully  show.  But  religion,  con- 
sidered as  a  probation,  has  had  its  end  upon  all  persons  to 
whom  it  has  been  proposed  with  evidence  sufficient  in  reason 
to  influence  their  practice  ;  for  by  this  means  they  have  been 
put  into  a  state  of  probation,  let  them  behave  as  they  will  in  it. 


92  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

So  that,  in  short,  Butler's  notion  of  converting  the  loose 
deists  of  fashionable  circles  comes  to  this :  by  being 
plied  with  evidence  sufficient  in  reason  to  influence  their 
practice,  they  are  to  be  put  into  a  state  of  probation  ;  let 
them  behave  as  they  will  in  it.  Probably  no  one  can 
hear  such  language  without  a  secret  dissatisfaction.  For, 
after  all,  the  object  of  religion  is  conversion,  and  to  change 
people's  behaviour.  But  where,  then,  is  the  use  of  saying 
that  you  will  inquire  not  what  people  are,  but  how  in 
reason  they  ought  to  behave  ?  Why,  it  is  what  they  are 
which  determines  their  sense  of  how  they  ought  to  behave. 
Make  them,  therefore,  so  to  feel  what  they  are,  as  to  get 
a  fruitful  sense  of  how  they  ought  to  behave.  The 
Founder  of  Christianity  did  so ;  and  whatever  success 
Christianity  has  had,  has  been  gained  by  this  method. 

However,  Butler's  line  is  what  it  is.  We  are  con- 
cerned with  what  we  can  use  of  it.  With  his  argument- 
ative triumph  over  the  loose  thinkers  and  talkers  of  his 
day,  so  far  as  it  is  a  triumph  won  by  taking  their  own 
data  and  using  their  own  admissions,  we  are  not  con- 
cerned unless  their  admissions  and  their  data  are  ours 
too.  And  they  are  not.  But  it  is  affirmed,  not  only  that 
the  loose  deists  of  fashionable  circles  could  not  answer 
the  Analogy,  it  is  affirmed,  farther,  that  the  Analogy  is 
unanswerable.  It  is  asserted,  not  only  that  Hobbes  or 
Shaftesbury  delivered  an  unsatisfactory  theory  of  morals, 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  93 


and  that  Butler  in  his  Sermo7is  disputed  their  reasonings 
with  success ;  but  it  is  asserted,  farther,  that  Butler,  on  his 
side,  '  pursued  precisely  the  same  mode  of  reasoning  in  the 
science  of  morals  as  his  great  predecessor,  Newton,  had 
done  in  the  system   of  nature,'  and  that  by   so  doing 
Butler   has    'formed   and    concluded   a   happy   alliance 
between  faith   and  philosophy.'      Achievement   of   this 
kind   is   what   the   'Time-Spirit,'   or    Zeit-Geist,    which 
sweeps  away  so  much  that  is  local  and  personal,  will 
certainly  respect.     Achievement  of  this  sort  deeply  con- 
cerns us.     An  unanswerable  work  on  the  evidence  of 
rehgion,    a    science   of    human    nature    and   of    morals 
reached  by   a   method  as   sure  as   Newton's,  a  happy 
alliance  between  faith  and  philosophy, — what  can  concern 
us  more  deeply  ?     If  Butler  accompHshed  all  this,  he  does 
indeed  give  us  what  we  can  use  ;  he  is  indeed  great.    But 
supposing  he  should  turn  out  not  to  have  accomplished  all 
this,  what  then  ?     Does  he  vanish  away  ?     Does  he  give 
us  nothing  which  we  can  use  ?    And  if  he  does  give  us 
something   which   we   can   use,   what   is   it ;   and   if  he 
remains  a  great  man  to  us  still,  why  does  he  ? 


3- 

Let  us  begin  with  the  Sermons  at  the  Rolls,  Butler's 
first  publication.     You  have  heard,  for  I  have  quoted  it, 


94  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

the  unbounded  praise  which  has  been  given  to  the  three 
sermons  On  Hiunaii  Natiij-e.  And  they  do-  indeed  lay 
the  foundation  for  the  whole  doctrine  of  the  Se7-mons  at 
the  Rolls,  of  the  body  of  sermons  wherein  is  given  Butler's 
system  of  moral  philosophy.  Their  argument  is  famili?r, 
probably,  to  many  of  us.  Let  me  recite  it  briefly  by 
abridging  the  best  of  all  possible  accounts  of  it, — Butler's 
own  account  in  his  preface  : — 

Mankind  has  various  instincts  and  principles  of  action. 
The  generality  of  mankind  obey  their  instincts  and  principles, 
all  of  them,  those  propensions  we  call  good  as  well  as  the  bad, 
according  to  the  constitution  of  their  body  and  the  external 
circumstances  which  they  are  in.  They  are  not  wholly 
governed  by  self-love,  the  love  of  power,  and  sensual  appe- 
tites ;  they  are  frequently  influenced  by  friendship,  compas- 
sion, gratitude;  and  even  a  general  abhorrence  ofwhatisbase, 
and  liking  of  what  is  fair  and  just,  take  their  turn  amongst 
the  other  motives  of  action.  This  is  the  partial  inadequate 
notion  of  human  nature  treated  of  in  the  first  discourse,  and 
it  is  by  this  nature,  if  one  may  speak  so,  that  the  world  is  m 
fact  influenced  and  kept  in  that  tolerable  order  in  which 
it  is. 

Mankind  in  thus  acting  would  act  suitably  to  their  whole 
nature,  if  no  more  were  to  be  said  of  man's  nature  than  what 
has  been  now  said.  But  that  is  not  a  complete  account  of 
man's  nature.  Somewhat  further  must  be  brought  in  to  give 
us  an  adequate  notion  of  it — namely,  that  one  of  those  prin- 
ciples of  action — conscie?ice  or  reflexion — compared  with  the 
rest  as  they  all  stand  together  in  the  nature  of  man,  plainly 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  95 

bears  upon  it  marks  of  authority  over  all  the  rest,  and  claims 
the  absolute  direction  of  them  all,  to  allow  or  forbid  their 
gratification  ;  a  disapprobation  of  reflexion  being  in  itself  a 
principle  manifestly  superior  to  a  mere  propension.  And 
the  conclusion  is,  that  to  allow  no  more  to  this  superior  prin- 
ciple or  part  of  our  nature  than  to  other  parts,  to  let  it 
govern  and  guide  only  occasionally  in  common  with  the  rest, 
as  its  turn  happens  to  come,  from  the  temper  and  circum- 
stances one  happens  to  be  in — this  is  not  to  act  conformably 
to  the  constitution  of  man,  neither  can  any  human  creature  be 
said  to  act  conformably  to  his  constitution  and  nature,  unless 
he  allows  to  that  superior  principle  the  absolute  authority 
which  is  due  to  it.  And  this  conclusion  is  abundantly  con- 
firmed from  hence — that  one  may  determine  what  course  of 
action  the  economy  of  man's  nature  requires,  without  so 
much  as  learning  in  what  degrees  of  strength  the  several 
principles  prevail,  or  which  of  them  have  actually  the  greatest 
influence. 

And  the  whole  scope  and  object  of  the  three  sermons 
On  Human  Nature,  Butler  describes  thus  : — 

They  were  intended  to  explain  what  is  meant  by  the 
nature  of  man,  when  it  is  said  that  virtue  consists  in  following, 
and  vice  in  deviating  from  it ;  and  by  explaining  to  show  that 
the  assertion  is  true. 

Now,  it  may  be  at  once  allowed  that  Butler's  notion 
of  human  nature  as  consisting  of  a  number  of  instincts 
and  principles  of  action,  with  conscience  as  a  superior 
principle  presiding  over  them,  corresponds  in  a  general 
way  with  facts  of   which  we  are  all  conscious,   and  if 


96  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


practically  acted  upon  would  be  found  to  work  satisfac- 
torily. When  Butler  says  :  *  Let  any  plain  honest  man 
before  he  engages  in  any  course  of  action,  ask  himself, 
"  Is  this  I  am  going  about  right,  or  is  it  wrong  ?  Is  it 
good  or  is  it  evil?  "  and  I  do  not  in  the  least  doubt  but 
that  this  question  would  be  answered  agreeably  to  truth 
and  virtue  by  almost  any  fair  man  in  almost  any  cir- 
cumstance ; ' — when  Butler  says  this,  he  is  on  solid 
ground,  and  his  whole  scheme  has  its  rise,  indeed,  in  the 
sense  that  this  ground  is  solid.  When  he  calls  our  nature 
'  the  voice  of  God  within  us ; '  or  when  he  suggests  that 
there  may  be  '  distinct  from  the  reflexion  of  reason,  a 
mutual  sympathy  between  each  particular  of  the  species, 
a  fellow-feeling  common  to  mankind  ; '  or  when  he  finely 
says  of  conscience,  '  Had  it  strength  as  it  has  right,  had 
it  power  as  it  has  manifest  authority,  it  would  absolutely 
govern  the  world;' — in  all  this,  Butler  is  in  contact  with 
the  most  precious  truth  and  reality,  and  so  far  as  this 
truth  and  reaHty  inform  the  scheme  which  he  has  drawn 
out  for  human  nature,  his  scheme  has  life  in  it. 

Equally  may  it  be  allowed,  that  the  errors,  which  his 
scheme  is  designed  to  correct,  are  errors  indeed.  If  the 
Epicureans,  or  Hobbes,  or  any  one  else,  '  explain  the 
desire  of  praise  and  of  being  beloved,  as  no  other  than 
desire  of  safety  ;  regard  to  our  country,  even  in  the  most 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  97 

virtuous  character,  as  nothing  but  regard  to  ourselves ; 
curiosity  as  proceeding  from  interest  or  pride  ;  as  if  there 
were  no  such  passions  in  mankind  as  desire  of  esteem, 
or  of  being  beloved,  or  of  knowledge;' — if  these  deli 
neators  of  human  nature  represent  it  thus,  they  represent 
it  fantastically.  If  Shaftesbury,  laying  it  down  that  virtue 
is  the  happiness  of  man,  and  encountered  by  the  objec- 
tion that  one  may  be  not  convinced  of  this  happy  tendency 
of  virtue  or  may  be  of  a  contrary  opinion,  meets  the  ob- 
jection by  determining  that  the  case  is  without  remedy, 
then  this  noble  moralist  moralises  ill.  If  Butler  found 
some  persons  (probably  the  loose  deists  of  fashionable 
circles)  '  who,  upon  principle,  set  up  for  suppressing  the 
affection  of  compassion  as  a  weakness,  so  that  there  is  I 
know  not  what  of  fashion  on  this  side,  and  by  some 
means  or  other  the  whole  world,  almost,  is  run  into  the 
extremes  of  insensibility  towards  the  distresses  of  their 
fellow  creatures  ; ' — if  this  was  so,  then  the  fashionable 
theory  of  human  nature  was  vicious  and  false,  and  Butler, 
in  seeking  to  substitute  a  better  for  it,  was  quite  right. 

But  Butler  himself  brings  in  somebody  as  asking  : 
'  Allowing  that  mankind  hath  the  rule  of  right  within 
itself,  what  obligations  are  we  under  to  attend  to  and 
follow  it  ? '  And  he  answers  this  question  quite  fairly  : 
'  Your  obligation  to  obey  this  law,  is  its  being  the  law  of 

H 


98  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

your  nature.'  But  let  us  vary  the  question  a  little,  and  let 
us  ask  Butler  :  'Suppose  your  scheme  of  human  nature  to 
correspond  in  a  general  way,  but  no  more,  with  facts  of 
which  we  are  conscious,  and  to  promise  to  work  prac- 
tically well  enough,  what  obligations  are  we  under  to 
attend  to  and  follow  it  ? '  Butler  cannot  now  answer 
us  :  '  Your  obligation  to  obey  this  law,  is  its  being  the 
law  of  your  nature.'  For  this  is  just  what  is  not  yet 
made  out.  All  that  we  suppose  to  be  yet  made  out 
about  Butler's  scheme  of  human  nature, — its  array  of 
instincts  and  principles  with  the  superior  principle  of 
conscience  presiding, — is,  that  the  scheme  has  a  general 
correspondence  with  facts  of  human  nature  whereof  we 
are  conscious.  But  the  time  comes, — sooner  or  later  the 
time  comes, — to  individuals  and  even  to  societies,  when 
the  foundations  of  the  great  deep  are  broken  up,  and 
everything  is  in  question,  and  people  want  surer  holding- 
ground  than  a  sense  of  general  correspondence,  in  any 
scheme  and  rule  of  human  nature  proposed  to  them, 
with  facts  whereof  they  are  conscious.  They  ask  them- 
selves what  this  sense  of  general  correspondence  is  really 
worth.  They  sift  the  facts  of  which  they  are  conscious, 
and  their  consciousness  of  which  seemed  to  lend  a  credi- 
bility to  the  scheme  proposed.  They  insist  on  strict  verifi- 
cation of  whatever  is  to  be  admitted ;  and  the  authority 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  99 

of  the  scheme  with  them  stands  or  falls  according  as  it 
does  or  does  not  come  out  undamaged,  after  all  this 
process  has  been  gone  through.  If  Butler's  scheme  of 
human  nature  comes  out  undamaged  after  being  sub- 
mitted to  a  process  of  this  kind,  then  it  is  indeed,  as  its 
admirers  call  it,  a  Newtonian  work.  It  is  a  work  '  placed 
on  the  firm  basis  of  observation  and  experiment ; '  it  is  a 
true  work  of  discovery.  His  doctrine  may,  with  justice, 
be  then  called  '  an  irresistible  doctrine  made  out  accord- 
ing to  the  strict  truth  of  our  mental  constitution.' 

Let  us  take  Butler's  natural  history  of  what  he  calls 
'our  instincts  and  principles  of  action.'  It  is  this  : — They 
have  been  implanted  in  us  ;  put  into  us  ready-made,  to 
serve  certain  ends  intended  by  the  Author  of  our  nature. 
When  we  see  what  each  of  them  '  is  in  itself,  as  placed 
in  our  nature  by  its  Author,  it  will  plainly  appear  for 
what  ends  it  was  placed  there.'  '  Perfect  goodness  in  the 
Deity,'  says  Butler,  'is  the  principle  from  whence  the 
universe  was  brought  into  being,  and  by  which  it  is 
preserved ;  and  general  benevolence  is  the  great  law  of 
the  moral  creation.'  But  some  of  our  passions  and 
propensions  seem  to  go  against  goodness  and  benevo- 
lence. However,  we  could  not  do  without  our  stock  of 
passions  and  propensions  of  all  sorts,  because  '  that  would 
H  2 


lOo  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

leave  us  without  a  sufficient  principle  of  action.'  •'  Reason 
alone/  argues  Butler — 

Reason  alone,  whatever  any  one  may  wish,  is  not  in 
reality  a  sufficient  motive  of  virtue  in  such  a  creature  as 
man  ;  but  this  reason,  joined  with  those  affections  which  God 
has  impressed  upon  his  heart  ;  and  when  these  are  allowed 
scope  to  exercise  themselves,  but  under  strict  government 
and  direction  of  reason,  then  it  is  we  act  suitably  to  our 
nature,  and  to  the  circumstances  God  has  placed  us  in. 

And  even  those  affections,  which  seem  to  create  diffi- 
culties for  us,  are  purposely  given,  Butler  says — 

Some  of  them  as  a  guard  against  the  violent  assaults  of 
others,  and  in  our  own  defence  ;  some  in  behalf  of  others  ; 
and  all  of  them  to  put  us  upon,  and  help  to  carry  us  through, 
a  course  of  behaviour  suitable  to  our  condition. 

For — 

As  God  Almighty  foresaw  the  irregularities  and  disorders, 
both  natural  and  moral,  which  would  happen  in  this  state  of 
things,  he  hath  graciously  made  some  provision,  against  them, 
by  giving  us  several  passions  and  affections,  which  arise  from, 
or  whose  objects  are,  those  disorders.  Of  this  sort  are  fear, 
resentment,  compassion,  and  others,  of  which  there  could  be 
no  occasion  or  use  in  a  perfect  state,  but  in  the  present  we 
should  be  exposed  to  greater  inconveniences  without  them, 
though  there  are  very  considerable  ones  which  they  them- 
selves are  the  occasion  of 

This  is  Butler's  natural  history  of  the   origin  of  our 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  loi 

principles  of  action.  I  take  leave  to  say  that  it  is  not 
based  on  observation  and  experiment.  It  is  not  phy- 
siology, but  fanciful  hypothesis.  Therefore  it  is  not 
Newtonian,  for  Newton  said  :  Hypotheses  nonfaigo.  And 
suppose  a  man,  in  a -time  of  great  doubt  and  unsettle- 
ment,  finding  many  things  fail  him  which  have  been  con- 
fidently pressed  on  his  acceptance,  and  looking  earnestly 
for  something  which  he  feels  he  can  really  go  upon  and 
which  will  prove  to  him  a  sure  stay ; — suppose  such  a  man 
coming  to  Butler,  because  he  hears  that  in  the  ethical 
discussions  of  his  sermons  Butler  supplies,  as  Mackintosh 
says,  '  truths  more  satisfactorily  established  by  him,  and 
more  worthy  of  the  name  of  discovery,  than  perhaps  any 
with  which  we  are  acquainted.'  Well,  such  a  man,  I 
think,  when  he  finds  that  Butler's  ethics  involve  an  im- 
mense hypothesis  to  start  with,  as  to  the  origin  and  final 
causes  of  all  our  passions  and  affections,  cannot  but  feel 
disconcerted  and  impatient. 

And   disconcerted   and   impatient,   I  am   afraid,  we 
must  for  the  present  leave  him. 


BISHOP   BUTLER  AND 


BISHOP  BUTLER  AND   THE  ZEIT-GEIST 

11. 

Butler  designs  to  found  a  sure  system  of  morals,  and, 
in  order  to  found  it,  he,  as  we  have  seen,  tells  us  how  we 
originally  came  by  our  instincts  and  affections.  They 
were,  he  tells  us,  '  placed  in  us  by  God,  to  put  us  upon 
and  help  to  "carry  us  through  a  course  of  behaviour  suit- 
able to  our  condition.'  Here,  as  everyone  will  admit,  we 
cannot  directly  verify  the  truth  of  what  our  author  says. 
But  he  also  examines  such  and  such  of  our  affections  in 
themselves,  to  make  good  his  theory  of  their  origin  and 
final  causes.  And  here  we  can  verify  the  degi-ee  in  which 
his  report  of  facts,  and  the  construction  he  puts  upon 
them,  carries  us  along  with  it,  inspires  us  with  confidence 
in  his  scheme  of  human  nature. 

Butler  notices,  that  compassion  for  the  distresses  of 
others  is  felt  much  more  generally  than  delight  in  their 
prosperity.     And  he  says  : — 

The  reason  and  account  of  which  matter  is  this  :  when  a 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST,  103 


man  has  obtained  any  particular  advantage  or  felicity,  his  end 
is  gained,  and  he  does  not,  in  that  particular,  want  the  assist- 
ance of  another ;  there  was  therefore  no  need  of  a  distinct  affec- 
tion towards  that  felicity  of  another  already  obtained,  neither 
would  such  affection  directly  carry  him  on  to  do  good  to  that 
person  ;  whereas  men  in  distress  want  assistance,  and  com- 
passion leads  us  directly  to  assist  them.  The  object  of  the 
former  is  the  present  felicity  of  another ;  the  object  of  the 
latter  is  the  present  misery  of  another.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
the  latter  wants  a  particular  affection  for  its  relief,  and  that 
the  former  does  not  want  one,  because  it  does  not  want 
assistance. 

Such  an  explanation,  why  compassion  at  another's  dis- 
tress is  stronger  than  satisfaction  at  another's  prosperity, 
was  well  suited,  no  doubt,  to  Butler's  theory  of  the  origin 
and  final  causes  of  all  our  affections.  But  will  anyone 
say  that  it  carries  a  real  student  of  nature  along  with 
it  and  inspires  him  with  confidence,  any  more  than 
Hobbes's  resolution  of  all  benevolence  into  a  mere  love 
of  power  ? — that  it  is  not  just  as  fantastic  ? 

Again,  take  Butler's  account  of  the  passion  of  anger 
and  resentment.  There  is  sudden  anger,  he  says,  and  there 
is  deliberate  anger : — 

'  The  reason  and  the  end  for  which  man  was  made  liable 
to  the  passion  of  sudden  anger  is,  that  he  might  be  better 
qualified  to  prevent,  and  likewise  (or  perhaps  chiefly)  to 
resist  and  defeat,  sudden  force,  violence,  and  opposition, 
considered  merely  as  such.     It  stands  in  our  nature  for  self 


I04  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

defence,  and  not  for  the  administration  of  justice.  Deliberate 
anger,  on  the  other  hand,  is  given  us  to  further  the  ends 
of  justice  ;  not  natural  but  moral  evil,  not  suffering  but 
injury,  raises  that  anger;  it  is  resentment  against  vice  and 
wickedness. 

And—  "     • 

The  natural  object  of  settled  resentment,  then,  being 
injury,  as  distinct  from  pain  or  loss,  it  is  easy  to  see  that  to 
prevent  and  to  remedy  such  injury,  and  the  miseries  arising 
from  it,  is  the  end  for  which  this  passion  was  implanted  in 
man. 

But  anger  has  evident  dangers  and  abuses.  True. 
But— 

Since  it  is  necessary,  for  the  very  subsistence  of  the  \\orld, 
that  injury,  injustice,  and  cruelty  should  be  punished ;  and 
since  compassion,  which  is  so  natural  to  mankind,  would 
render  that  execution  of  justice  exceedingly  difficult  and 
uneasy,  indignation  against  vice  and  wickedness  is  a  balance 
to  that  weakness  of  pity,  and  also  to  anything  else  which 
would  prevent  the  necessary  methods  of  severity. 

And  it  is  the  business  of  the  faculty  of  conscience,  or 
reflexion,  to  tell  us  how  anger  may  be  innocently  and 
rightly  employed,  so  as  to  serve  the  -end  for  which  God 
placed  it  in  our  nature. 

In  times  when  everything  is  conventional,  when  no 
one  looks  very  closely  into  himself  or  into  what  is  told 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  105 

him  about  his  moral  nature,  this  sort  of  natural  history 
may,  perhaps,  look  likely  enough,  and  may  even  pass  for 
Newtonian.  But  let  a  time  come  when,  as  I  say,  the 
foundations  of  the  great  deep  are  broken  up,  when  a  man 
searches  with  passionate  earnestness  for  something  cer- 
tain, and  can  and  will  henceforth  build  upon  facts  only ; 
then  the  arbitrary  assertions  of  such  a  psychology  as  this 
of  Butler's  will  be  felt  to  be  perfectly  fantastic  and  un- 
availing. 

And  even  when  the  arbitrary  and  fantastic  character 
of  his  psychology  is  not  so  apparent,  Butler  will  be  felt 
constantly  to  puzzle  and  perplex,  rather  than  to  satisfy 
us.  He  will  be  felt  not  to  carry  us  along  with  him,  not 
to  be  convincing.  He  has  his  theory  that  our  appetites 
and  affections  are  all  placed  in  our  nature  by  God,  that 
they  are  all  equally  natural,  that  they  all  have  a  useful 
end  to  serve  and  have  respect  to  that  end  solely ;  that 
the  principle  of  conscience  is  implanted  in  us  for  the 
sake  of  arbitrating  between  them,  of  assigning  to  certain 
among  them  a  natural  superiority,  of  using  each  in  its 
right  measure  and  of  guiding  it  to  its  right  end  ;  and 
that  the  degree  of  strength,  in  which  any  one  of  our 
affections  exists,  affords  no  reason  at  all  for  following  it. 
And  Butler's  theory  requires,  moreover,  that  self-love  shall 
be  but  one-out  of  our  many  affections,  that  it  shall  have  a 


io6  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

strictly  defined  end  of  its  own,  and  be  as  distinct  from 
those  affections  which  seem  most  akin  to  it,  and  which 
are  therefore  often  confounded  with  it,  as  it  is  from 
those, — such  as  benevolence,  we  will  say, — which  nobody 
is  tempted  to  confound  with  it.  Such  is  Butler's  theory, 
and  such  are  its  requirements.  And  with  this  theory,  we 
find  him  declaring  that  compassion  is  a  primitive  affection 
implanted  in  us  from  the  first  by  the  Author  of  Nature  to 
lead  us  to  pubUc  spirit,  just  as  hunger  was  implanted  in  us 
from  the  first  to  lead  us  to  our  own  personal  good,  and  from 
the  same  cause  :  namely,  that  reason  and  cool  self-love 
would  not  by  themselves  have  been  sufficient  to  lead  us  to 
the  end  in  view,  without  the  appetite  and  the  affection. 

The  private  interest  of  the  individual  would  not  be 
sufficiently  provided  for  by  reasonable  and  cool  self-love 
alone  ;  therefore  the  appetites  and  passions  are  placed  \\\\\\vi\ 
as  a  guard  and  further  security,  without  which  it  would  not 
be  taken  due  care  of  It  is  manifest,  our  life  would  be 
neglected  were  it  not  for  the  calls  of  hunger  and  thirst  and 
weariness,  notwithstanding  that  without  them  reason  would 
assure  us,  that  the  recruits  of  food  and  sleep  are  the  necessary 
means  of  our  preservation.  It  is  therefore  absurd  to  imagine 
that,  without  affection  (the  affection  of  compassion),  the  same 
reason  alone  would  be  more  effectual  to  engage  us  to  per- 
form the  duties  we  owe  to  our  fellow-creatures. 

The  argument  may  be  ingenious,  but  can  anything 
be  more  unsatisfactory  ?     And  is  it  not,  to  use  Butler's 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  107 

words,  '  absurd  to  imagine '  that  in  this  manner,  and  by 
this  parallel  plan,  and  thus  to  supplement  one  another, 
hunger  and  reasonable  self-love,  compassion  and  'a 
settled  reasonable  principle  of  benevolence  to  mankind,' 
did  really  have  their  rise  in  us  ? 

Presently  we  tind  Butler  marvelling  that  persons  of 
superior  capacity  should  dispute  the  obligation  of  com- 
passion and  public  spirit,  and  asking  if  it  could  ever 
occur  to  a  man  of  plain  understanding  to  think  'that 
there  was  absolutely  no  such  thing  in  mankind  as 
affection  to  the  good  of  others,  — suppose  of  pareiits  to  their 
childre?!.^  As  if  the  affection  of  parents  to  their  children 
was  an  affection  to  the  good  of  others  of  just  the  same 
natural  history  as  public  spirit ! — as  if  the  two  were  alike 
in  their  primariness,  alike  in  their  date  of  obligation,  alike 
in  their  kind  of  evidence  !  One  is  an  affection  of 
rudimentary  human  nature,  the  other  is  a  slow  conquest 
from  rudimentary  human  nature.     And  once  more  : — 

'  To  endeavour  to  get  rid  of  the  sorrow  of  compassion,  by 
turning  from  the  wretched,  is  as  unnatural,'  says  Butler, '  as  to 
endeavour  to  get  rid  of  the  pain  of  hunger,  by  keeping  from 
the  sight  of  food.' 

Now,  we  are  to  consider  this  as  a  practical  argument  by 
which  to  bring  a  man,  all  unsettled  about  the  rule  of  his 
conduct,  to  cultivate  in  himself  compassion.    Surely  such 


io5  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

an  argument  would  astonish  rather  than  convmce  him  ! 
He  would  say  :  '  Can  it  be  so,  since  we  see  that  men 
continually  do  the  one,  never  the  other  ? '  But  Butler 
insists,  and  says  : — 

That  we  can  do  one  with  greater  success  than  we  can  the 
other,  is  no  proof  that  one  is  less  a  violation  of  nature  than 
the  other.  Compassion  is  a  call,  a  demand  of  nature,  to 
relieve  the  unhappy,  as  hunger  is  a  natural  call  for  food. 

Surely,  natm-e,  7iatti7'al,  must  be  used  here  in  a  somewhat 
artificial  manner,  in  order  to  get  this  argument  out  of 
them  !  Yet  Butler  professes  to  stick  to  plain  facts,  not 
to  sophisticate,  not  to  refine. 

'  Let  me  take  notice,'  he  says,  '  of  the  danger  of  going 
beside  or  beyond  the  plain,  obvious,  first  appearances  of 
things,  upon  the  subject  of  morals  and  religion.' 

But  is  it  in  accordance  w4th  the  plain,  obvious,  first 
appearances  of  things,  to  pronounce  compassion  to  be  a 
call,  a  demand  of  nature  to  relieve  the  unhappy,  pre- 
cisely in  the  same  manner  as  hunger  is  a  natural  call  for 
food  ;  and  to  say  that  to  neglect  one  call  is  just  as  much 
a  violation  of  nature  as  the  other  ?  Surely  Butler  could 
not  talk  in  this  way,  unless  he  had  first  laid  it  down  that 
all  our  affections  are  in  themselves  equally  natural,  and 
that  no  degree  of  greater  strength  and  frequency  can 
make  one  affection  more  natural  than  the  other.     They 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  109 

are  all,  according  to  him,  voices  of  God.  But  the  principle 
of  reflexion  or  conscience, — a  higher  voice  of  God, — 
decides  how  and  when  each  is  to  be  followed.  And  when 
Butler  has  laid  this  down,  he  has  no  difficulty  in  affirm- 
ing that  it  is  as  unnatural  not  to  relieve  the  distressed  as 
not  to  eat  when  one  is  hungry.  Only  one  feels,  not 
convinced  and  satisfied,  but  in  doubt  whether  he  ought 
to  have  laid  it  down,  when  one  sees  that  it  conducts  him 
to  such  an  affirmation. 

Yet  once  more.  The  affection  of  compassion  not  only 
proves  that  it  is  as  unnatural  to  turn  away  from  distress 
as  to  turn  from  food  when  one  is  hungry.  It  proves,  also, 
that  this  world  was  intended  neither  to  be  a  mere  scene 
of  unhappiness  and  sorrow,  nor  to  be  a  state  of  any 
great  satisfaction  or  high  enjoyment.  And  it  suggests  the 
following  lesson  for  us  : — 

There  being  that  distinct  affection  implanted  in  the 
nature  of  man  tending  to  lessen  the  miseries  of  life,  that  pro- 
vision made  for  abating  its  sorrows  more  than  for  increasing 
its  positive  happiness,  this  may  suggest  to  us  what  should  be 
our  general  aim  respecting  ourselves  in  our  passage  through 
this  world,  namely,  to  endeavour  chiefly  to  escape  misery,  keep 
free  from  uneasiness,  pain,  and  sorrow,  or  to  get  relief  and 
mitigation  of  them  ;  to  propose  to  ourselves  peace  and  tran- 
quillity of  mind  rather  than  pursue  after  high  enjoyments. 

And  Butler  goes  on  to  enumerate   several  so-called 


no  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

high  enjoyments,  such  as  '  to  make  pleasure  and  mirth 
and  jollity  our  business,  to  be  constantly  hurrying  about 
after  some  gay  amusement,  some  new  gratification  of 
sense  or  appetite.'  And  he  points  out,  what  no  wise 
man  will  dispute,  that  these  do  not  confer  happiness,  and 
that  we  do  wrong  to  make  them  our  end  in  life.  No 
doubt ;  yet  meanwhile,  in  his  main  assertion  that  man's 
proper  aim  is  escape  from  misery  rather  than  positive 
happiness,  Butler  goes  clean  counter  to  the  most  intimate, 
the  most  sure,  the  most  irresistible  instinct  of  human 
nature.  As  a  little  known  but  profound  French  moralist, 
Senancour,  has  said  admirably  : '  The  aim  for  man  is  to 
augment  the  feeling  of  joy,  to  make  our  expansive  energy 
bear  fruit,  and  to  combat,  in  all  thinking  beings,  the 
principle  of  degradation  and  misery.'  But  Butler  goes 
counter,  also,  to  the  clear  voice  of  our  religion.  '  Re- 
joice and  give  thanks!'  exhorts  the  Old  Testament; 
'  Rejoice  evermore  ! '  exhorts  the  New.  This,  and  not 
mere  escape  from  misery,  getting  freedom  from  uneasiness, 
pain,  and  sorrow,  or  getting  mitigation  of  them,  is  what 
(to  turn  Butler's  words  against  himself)  'the  conside- 
ration of  nature  marks  out  as  the  course  we  should  follow 
and  the  end  we  should  aim  at.'  And  a  scheme  of  human 
nature,  meant  to  serve  as  a  rule  for  human  conduct, 
cannot,  however  ingenious,  be  said  to  explain  things  irre- 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  m 


sistibly  according  to  the  strict  truth  of  our  mental  consti- 
tution, when  we  find  it  strongly  at  variance  with  the  facts 
of  that  constitution  on  a  point  of  capital  importance. 

Even  at  past  fifty  years  of  age  I  approach  the  subject, 
so  terrible  to  undergraduates,  of  Butler's  account  of  self- 
love,  with  a  shiver  of  uneasiness.  Yet  I  will  point  out 
how  Butler's  own  arbitrary  definition  of  self-love,  a  defini- 
tion which  the  cast  of  his  scheme  of  human  nature  renders 
necessary,  creates  the  difficulties  of  his  assiduous,  la- 
boured, and  unsatisfying  attempt  to  reconcile  self-love 
with  benevolence.  He  describes  self-love,  occasionally, 
as  '  a  general  desire  of  our  own  happiness.'  And  he  knew 
well  enough,  that  the  pursuit  of  our  own  interest  and 
happiness,  rightly  understood,  and  the  obedience  to  God's 
commands,  'must  be  in  every  case  one  and  the  same  thing.' 
Nevertheless,  Butler's  constant  notion  of  the  pursuit  of  our 
interest  is,  that  it  is  the  pursuit  of  our  temporal  good.,  as  he 
calls  it ;  the  cool  consideration  of  our  own  temporal 
advantage.  And  he  expressly  defines  his  self-love,  which 
he  names  '  a  private  contracted  affection,'  as  '  a  regard  to 
our  private  good,  our  private  interest.'  Private  interest 
is  the  favourite  expression  :  '  a  cool  pursuit  of  our  private 
interest.'  Now  to  say,  that  there  is  no  opposition  between 
a  general  desire  for  our  own  happiness,  and  a  love  of  our 
neighbour,  has  nothing  puzzling  in  it.    But  to  define  self- 


112  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


love  as  a  private  contracted  affection,  consisting  in  a 
cool  deliberate  pursuit  of  our  private  interest,  and  then  to 
say,  as  Butler  does,  that  from  self-love,  thus  defined,  love 
of  our  neighbour  is  no  more  distant  than  hatred  of  our 
neighbour,  is  to  sophisticate  things.  Buder  may  make  it 
out  by  stipulating  that  self-love  shall  merely  mean  pur- 
suing our  private  interest,  and  not  pursuing  it  in  any 
particular  manner,  just  as  he  makes  out  that  not  to  relieve 
the  distressed  is  as  unnatural  to  a  man  as  not  to  eat  when 
he  is  hungry,  by  stipulating  that  all  our  affections  shall 
be  considered  equally  natural.  But  he  does  not  con- 
vince a  serious  student  by  these  refinements,  does  not 
carry  such  a  student  with  him,  does  not  help  such  a 
student,  therefore,  a  step  nearer  towards  practice.  And 
a  moralist's  business  is  to  help  towards  practice. 

The  truth  is,  all  tliis  elaborate  psychology  of  But- 
ler's, which  satisfies  us  so  little, — so  little,  to  use  Cole- 
ridge's excellent  expression,  finds  us, — is  unsatisfying 
because  of  its  radical  defectiveness  as  natural  history. 
What  he  calls  our  instincts  and  principles  of  action, 
which  are  in  truth  the  most  obscure,  changing,  inter- 
dependent of  phenomena,  Butler  takes  as  if  they  were 
things  as  separate,  fixed,  and  palpable  as  the  bodily 
organs  which  the  dissector  has  on  his  table  before  him. 
He  takes  them  as  if,  just  as  he  now  finds  them,  there 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  113 

they  had  ahvays  been,  and  there  they  must  always  be ; 
as  if  benevolence  had  always  gone  on  secreting  love  of 
our  neighbour,  and  compassion  a  desire  to  relieve  misery, 
and  conscience  right  verdicts,  just  as  the  liver  secretes 
oile.  Butler's  error  is  that  of  the  early  chemists,  who 
imagined  things  to  be  elements  which  were  not,  but  were 
capable  of  being  resolved  and  decomposed  much  farther. 
And  a  man  who  is  thrown  fairly  upon  himself,  and  will 
have  the  naked  truth,  must  feel  that  it  is  with  Butler's 
principles  and  affections  as  it  was  with  the  elements  of 
the  early  chemists  ; — they  are  capable  of  being  resolved 
and  decomposed  much  farther,  and  solid  ground  is  not 
reached  until  they  are  thus  decomposed.  '  There  is  this 
principle  of  reflexion  or  conscience  in  mankind.' — '  True,' 
the  student  may  answer ;  '  but  what  and  whence  is  it  ? 
It  had  a  genesis  of  some  kind,  and  your  account  of  its 
genesis  is  fantastic.  What  is  its  natural  genesis,  and 
what  the  natural  genesis  of  your  benevolence,  compassion, 
resentment,  and  all  the  rest  of  them  ?  Till  I  know  this, 
I  do  not  know  where  I  am  in  talking  about  them.' — But 
into  this  vast,  dimly  lighted,  primordial  region  of  the 
natural  genesis  of  man's  affections  and  principles,  Butler 
never  enters. 

Yet  in  this   laboratory  arose   those  wonderful  com- 
pounds with  which  Butler  deals,  and  the  source  of  his 

I 


114  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

ruling  faculty  of  conscience  is  to  be  traced  back  thither. 
There,  out  of  the  simple  primary  instinct,  which  we  may 
call  the  instinct  or  effort  to  live,  grew  our  affections  ;  and 
out  of  the  experience  of  those  affections,  in  their  result 
upon  the  instinctive  effort  to  live,  grew  reflexion,  prac- 
tical reason,  conscience.  And  the  all-ruling  effort  to  live 
is,  in  other  words,  the  desire  for  happiness ;  that  desire 
which  Butler, — because  he  identifies  it  with  self-love,  and 
defines  self-love  as  the  cool  pursuit  of  our  private  in- 
terest, of  our  temporal  good, — is  so  anxious  to  treat  as 
only  one  motive  out  of  many,  and  not  authoritative. 
And  this  instinct  rules  because  it  is  sti'ongest ;  although 
Butler  is  so  anxious  that  no  instinct  shall  rule  because 
it  is  strongest.  And  our  affections  of  all  kinds,  too, 
according  as  they  serve  this  deep  instinct  or  thwart  it,  are 
superior  in  sfre?igt/i, — not  in  present  strength,  but  in 
permanent  strength ;  and  have  degrees  of  7V07'th  accord- 
ing to  that  superiority.  And  benevolence,  or  a  regard  to 
the  good  of  others,  does  often  conflict  with  the  private 
contracted  affection  of  self-love,  or  a  regard  to  our 
private  interest,  with  which  Butler  denies  that  it  conflicts 
at  all.  But  it  has  the  call  to  contend  with  it,  and  the 
right  to  get  the  better  of  it,  because  of  its  own  supe- 
riority in  pei'inanent  strength.  And  this  superiority  it 
derives  from   the  experience,  painfully  and   slowly  ac- 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST. 


15 


quired,  that   it   serves   our  instinct   to   live,   our   desire 
for    happiness,    better    than     the     private     contracted 
affection    does  ;     that    the     private    contracted     affec- 
tion, if  we   follow  it,  thwarts  this  instinct.      For   men 
are   solidary,   or   co-partners ;   and   not   isolated.      And 
conscience,  in  a  question  of  conflict  between  a  regard 
to  the  good  of  others  and  a  regard  to  our  private  good, 
is  the  sense  of  experience  having  proved  and  established , 
that,  from  this  reason  of  men's  being  really  solidary,  our 
private  good  ought  in  a  conflict  of  such  kind  to  give 
way ;  and  that  our  nature  is  violated, — that  is,  our  in- 
stinct to  live  is   thwarted, — if  it   does  not.      That  this 
sense  finds  in  us  a  pre-adaptation  to  it,  and  a  presenti- 
ment of  its  truth,  may  be  inferred  from  its  being  a  sense 
of  facts  which  are  a  real  condition  of  human  progress. 
But  whatever  may  be  the  case  as  to  our  pre-adaptation 
to  it  and  presentiment  of  it,  the  great  matter  in  favour 
of  the  sense  is,  that  the  experience  reported  by  it  is  true ; 
that  the  thing  z's  so.     People  may  say,  they  have  not  got 
this  sense  that  their  instinct  to  live  is  served 'by  loving 
their  neighbour  ; — they  may  say  that  they  have,  in  other 
words,   a  dull   and    uninformed   conscience.     But   that 
does  not  make  the  experience  the  less  a  true  thing,  the 
real  experience  of  the  race.     Neither  does  it  make  the 
sense  of  this  experience  to  be,  any  the  less,  genuine 

I  2 


Ii6  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


conscience.  And  it  is  genuine  conscience,  because  it 
apprehends  what  does  really  serve  our  instinct  to  live, 
or  desire  for  happiness.  And  when  Shaftesbury  sup- 
poses the  case  of  a  man  thinking  vice  and  selfishness  to 
be  truly  as  much  for  his  advantage  as  virtue  and  benevo- 
lence, and  concludes  that  such  a  case  is  without  remedy, 
the  answer  is  :  Not  at  all ;  let  such  a  man  get  conscience, 
get  right  experience.  And  if  the  man  does  not,  the 
result  is  not  that  he  goes  on  just  as  well  without  it ;  the 
result  is,  that  he  is  lost. 

Butler,  indeed,  was  evidently  afraid  of  making  the 
desire  of  happiness  to  be  that  which  we  must  set  out 
with  in  explaining  human  nature.  And  he  was  afraid 
of  it  for  this  reason  :  because  he  was  apprehensive  of  the 
contracted  self-love,  and  of  the  contracted  judgments,  of 
the  individual.  But  if  we  say  the  instinct  to  live  instead 
of  the  desire  of  happiness, — and  the  two  mean  the  same 
thing,  and  life  is  a  better  and  more  exact  word  to  use 
than  happiness,  and  it  is,  moreover,  the  Bible-w^ord, — 
then  the  difficulty  vanishes.  For,  as  man  advances  in 
his  development,  he  becomes  aware  of  two  lives,  one 
permanent  and  impersonal,  the  other  transient  and  bound 
to  our  contracted  self;  he  becomes  aware  of  two  selves, 
one  higher  and  real,  the  other  inferior  and  apparent ;  and 
that  the  instinct  in  him  truly  to  live,  the  desire  for  happi- 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  117 

ness,  is  served  by  following  the  first  self  and  not  the 
second.  It  is  not  the  case  that  the  two  selves  do  not 
conflict ;  they  do  conflict.  It  is  not  true  that  the  affec- 
tions and  impulses  of  both  alike  are,  as  Butler  says,  the 
voice  of  God  ;  the  self-love  of  Butler,  the  '  cool  study 
of  our  private  interest,'  is  not  the  voice  of  God.  It  is  a 
hasty,  erroneous  interpretation  by  us,  in  our  long,  tenta- 
tive, up-struggling  development,  of  the  instinct  to  live, 
the  desire  for  happiness,  which  is  the  voice  of  our 
authentic  nature,  the  voice  of  God.  And  it  has  to  be 
corrected  by  experience.  Love  of  our  neighbour, 
Butler's  benevolence,  is  the  affection  by  which  experience 
bids  us  correct  it.  Many  a  hard  lesson  does  the  ex- 
perience involve,  many  a  heavy  blow.  But  the  satisfac- 
tion of  our  instinct  to  live,  of  our  desire  for  happiness, 
depends  on  our  making  and  using  the  experience. 

And  so  true  is  this  history  of  the  two  lives  in  man, 
the  two  selves, — both  arising  out  of  the  instinct  to  live 
in  us,  out  of  the  feeling  after  happiness,  but  one  correct- 
•  ing  and  at  last  dommating  the  other, — that  the  psycho- 
logy of  Jesus  Christ,  which  without  the  least  apparatus 
of  system  is  yet  incomparably  exacter  than  Butler's,  as 
well  as  incomparably  more  illuminative  and  fruitful, — 
this  psychology,  I  say,  carries  every  one  with  it  when 
it  treats  these  two  lives  in  man,  these  two  selves,  as  an 


ii8  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

evident,  capital  fact  of  human  nature.  Jesus  Christ 
said  :  '  Renounce  thyself!  '  and  yet  he  also  said  :  '  "\Miat 
is  a  man  profited,  if  he  gain  the  whole  world,  and  yet 
lose  himself,  be  mulcted  of  hmiselfV  He  said  :  'I  am 
come  that  men  might  have  life,  and  might  have  it  more 
abundantly  ;  and  ye  will  not  come  to  me  that  ye  may 
have  life!'  And  yet  he  also  said  :  '  Whosoever  will  save 
his  life,  shall  lose  it.'  So  certain  is  it  that  we  have  two 
lives,  two  selves  ;  and  that  there  is  no  danger  in  making 
the  instinct  to  live,  the  desire  of  happiness,  to  be,  as 
it  really  is,  that  which  we  must  set  out  with  in  explaining 
human  nature,  if  we  add  that  only  in  the  impersonal 
life,  and  with  the  higher  self,  is  the  instinct  truly  served 
and  the  desire  truly  satisfied;  that  experience  is  the 
long,  painful,  irresistible,  glorious  establishment  of  this 
fact,  and  that  conscience  is  the  recognition  of  that  ex- 
perience. 

Now,  as  Butler  fears  to  set  out,  in  explaining  human 
nature,  with  the  desire  for  happiness,  because  he  imagines 
each  man  cutting  and  carving  arbitrarily  for  his  own 
private  interest  in  pursuit  of  happiness,  so  he  apprehends 
a  man's  cutting  and  carving  arbitrarily,  and  with  mistaken 
judgment,  for  the  happiness  of  others.  He  supposes  a 
man  fancying  that  an  overbalance  of  happiness  to  man- 
kind may  be  produced  by  committing  some  great  in- 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  119 

justice,  and  says  very  truly  that  a  man  is  not  on  that 
account  to  commit  it.  And  he  concludes  that  '  we  are 
constituted  so  as  to  condemn  injustice  abstracted  from 
all  consideration  what  conduct  is  likeliest  to  produce  an 
overbalance  of  happiness  or  misery.'  And  he  thinks 
that  his  theory  of  our  affections  being  all  implanted 
separately  in  us,  ready-made  and  full-grown,  by  a  Divine 
Author  of  Nature,  his  theory  of  the  dignified  indepen- 
dence, on  the  part  of  virtue  and  conscience,  of  all  aim 
at  happiness,  is  thereby  proved.  So  far  from  it,  that  man 
did  not  even  propose  to  himself  the  worthier  aim,  as  it 
now  is  seen  by  us  to  be,  of  the  production  of  ge?ieral 
happiness,  in  feeling  his  way  to  the  laws  of  virtue. 
He  proposed  to  himself  the  production  simply  of  his 
own  happiness.  But  experience  of  what  made  for  this^ 
such  experience  slowly  led  him  to  the  laws  of  virtue  ; — 
laws  abridging  in  a  hundred  ways  what  at  first  seemed 
his  own  happiness,  and  implying  the  solidarity  of  him- 
self and  his  happiness  with  the  race  and  theirs.  This  is 
what  experience  brought  him  to,  and  what  conscience  is 
concerned  with  :  a  number  of  laws  determining  our  con- 
duct in  many  ways,  and  implying  our  solidarity  with  others. 
But  experience  did  not  bring  him  to  the  rule  of  every 
man  just  aiming,  '  according  to  the  best  of  his  judgment,' 
at  what  might  '  have  the  appearance  of  being  likely  to 


BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


produce  an  overbalance  of  happiness  to  mankind  in  their 
present  state.'  It  did  not  conduct  him  to  this,  or  esta- 
blish for  him  any  such  rule  of  action  as  this.  This  is  not 
his  experience^  and  conscience  turns  on  experience.  It 
is  not  in  the  form  of  carving  for  men's  apparent  happi- 
ness in  defiance  of  the  common  rules  of  justice  and 
virtue,  that  the  duty  of  caring  for  other  men's  happiness 
makes  itself  felt  to  us,  but  in  the  form  of  an  obedience 
to  the  common  rules  themselves  of  justice  and  of  virtue. 
Those  rules,  however,  had  indubitably  in  great  part  their 
rise  in  the  experience,  that,  by  seeking  solely  his  own 
private  happiness,  a  man  made  shipwreck  of  life. 

In  morals,  we  must  not  rely  just  on  what  may  'have 
the  appearance  '  to  the  individual,  but  on  the  experience 
of  the  race  as  to  happiness.  To  that  experience,  the 
individual,  as  one  of  the  race,  is  profoundly  and  inti- 
mately adapted.  He  may  much  more  safely  conform 
himself  to  such  experience  than  to  his  own  crude  judg- 
ments upon  '  appearances  ; '  nay,  such  experience  has, 
if  he  deals  with  himself  fairly,  a  much  stronger  hold 
upon  his  conviction.  Butler  confuses  the  foreseen  over- 
balance of  happiness  or  misery,  which,  as  the  result  of 
experience  in  the  race,  has  silently  and  slowly  deter- 
mined our  calling  actions  virtuous  or  vicious,  with  that 
overbalance  which  each  transient  individual  may  think 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  121 

he  can  foresee.  The  transient  individual  must  not  cut 
and  carve  in  the  resuUs  of  human  experience,  accord- 
ing to  his  crude  notions  of  what  may  constitute  human 
happiness.  His  thought  of  the  obhgation  laid  upon 
him  by  those  rules  of  justice  and  virtue,  wherein  the 
moral  experience  of  our  race  has  been  summed  up, 
must  rather  be  :  '  The  will  of  mortal  man  did  not  beget 
it,  neither  shall  oblivion  ever  put  it  to  sleep.'  But  the 
rules  had  their  origin  in  man's  desire  for  happiness  not- 
withstanding. 

2. 

Impressive,  then,  as  the  Sermons  at  the  Rolls  are,  and 
much  as  they  contain  which  is  precious,  I  do  not  think 
that  these  sermons,  setting  forth  Butler's  theory  of  the 
foundation  of  morals,  will  satisfy  any  one  who  in  dis- 
quietude, and  seeking  earnestly  for  a  sure  stay,  comes 
for  help  to  them.  But  the  Sermons  at  the  Rolls  were 
published  in  1726,  when  Butler  was  but  thirty-four  years 
old.  They  were  all  preached  in  the  eight  years  be- 
tween 17 18  and  1726, — between  the  twenty- sixth  year  of 
Butler's  life  and  the  thirty- fourth.  The  date  is  impor- 
tant. At  that  age  a  man  is,  I  think,  more  likely  to 
attempt  a  highly  systematic,  intricate  theory  of  human 
nature  and  morals,  than  he  is  afterwards.     And  if  he 


122  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

does  attempt  it,  it  cannot  well  be  satisfactory.  The  man 
is  hardly  ripe  for  it,  he  has  not  had  enough  experience. 
So  at  least,  one  is  disposed  to  say,  as  one  regards  the 
thing  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  more  mature  age  one- 
self. The  Analogy  did  not  come  till  ten  years  after  the 
Sermons.  The  Analogy  appeared  in  1 736,  when  Butler 
was  forty-four.  It  is  a  riper  work  than  the  Sermons  at 
the  Rolls.  Perhaps  it  mil  seem  in  me  the  very  height 
of  over-partiality  to  the  merits  of  old  age,  of  that  un- 
popular condition  whicli  I  am  myself  approaching,  if  I 
say,  that  I  would  rather  have  had  the  opus  viagnum  of 
such  a  man  as  Butler,  and  on  such  a  subject  as  the 
philosophy  of  religion,  ten  years  later  from  him  still,  I 
would  rather  have  had  it  from  him  at  fifty-four  than  at 
forty-four.  To  me,  the  most  entirely  satisfactory  pro- 
ductions of  Butler  are  the  Six  Sej'inons  on  Public 
Occasions^  all  of  them  later  than  the  Analogy ;  the 
Charge  to  the  Cleigy  of  Durham.,  delivered  the  year 
before  his  death  ;  and  a  few  fragments,  also  dating 
from  the  close  of  his  life. 

But  let  us  be  thankful  for  what  we  have.  The  Ana- 
logy is  a  work  of  great  power  ;  to  read  it,  is  a  very  valu- 
able mental  exercise.  Not  only  does  it  contain,  like  the 
Sermons,  many  trains  of  thought  and  many  single  obser- 
vations which  are  profound  and  precious,  but  the  Intel- 


THE  ZEir-GEIST.  123 


lectual  conduct  of  the  work,  so  to  speak,  seems  to  me 
to  be  more  that  of  a  master,  to  be  much  firmer  and 
clearer,  more  free  from  embarrassment  and  confusion, 
than  that  of  the  Sermons.  Of  course  the  form  of  the 
work  gave  Butler  advantages  which  with  the  form  of  a 
sermon  he  could  not  have.  But  the  mental  grasp,  too, 
is,  I  think,  visibly  stronger  in  the  Analogy. 

I  have  drawn  your-  attention  to  the  terms  of  un- 
bounded praise  in  which  the  Analogy  is  extolled.  It  is 
called  '  unanswerable.'  It  is  said  to  be  '  the  most  ori- 
ginal and  profound  work  extant  in  any  language  on  the 
philosophy  of  religion.'  It  is  asserted,  that,  by  his 
Analogy,  Butler  '  placed  metaphysic,  which  till  then  had 
nothing  to  support  it  but  mere  abstraction  or  shadowy 
speculation,  on  the  firm  basis  of  observation  and  ex- 
periment.' 

I  have  also  told  you  what  is  to  my  mind  the  one  sole 
point  of  interest  for  us  now,  in  a  work  like  the  Analogy. 
To  those  who  search  earnestly,— amid  that  break-up  of 
traditional  and  conventional  notions  respecting  our  life, 
its  conduct,  and  its  sanctions,  which  is  undeniably  be- 
falling our  age, — for  some  clear  light  and  some  sure  stay, 
does  the  Analogy  afi'ord  it  to  them  ?  A  religious  work 
cannot  touch  us  very  deeply  as  a  mere  intellectual  feat. 
Whether  the   Analogy  was   or  was   not    calculated   to 


124  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

make  the  loose  Deists  of  fashionable  circles,  in  the  year 
of  grace  1736,  feel  uncomfortable,  we  do  not,  as  I  said 
the  other  night,  care  two  straws,  unless  we  hold  the 
argumentative  positions  of  those  Deists  ;  and  we  do  not. 
What  has  the  Analogy  got  to  enlighten  and  help  its  ?  is 
the  one  important  question. 

Its  object  is  to  make  men  embrace  religion.  And 
that  is  just  what  we  all  ought  most  to  desire :  to  make 
men  embrace  religion,  which  we  may  see  to  be  full  of 
what  is  salutary  for  them.  Yet  how  many  of  them  will 
not  embrace  it  !  Now,  to  every  one  with  whom  the  im- 
pediment to  its  reception  is  not  simply  moral, — culpable 
levity,  or  else  a  secret  leaning  to  vice, — Butler  professes 
to  make  out  clearly  in  his  Analogy  that  they  ought  to 
embrace  it,  and  to  embrace  it,  moreover,  in  the  form  of 
what  is  called  orthodox  Christianity,  with  its  theosophy 
and  miracles.  And  he  professes  to  establish  this  by  the 
analogy  of  religion, — first  of  natural  religion,  then  of  re- 
vealed religion, — to  the  constitution  and  laws  of  nature. 

Elsewhere  I  have  remarked  what  advantage  Butler 
had  against  the  Deists  of  his  own  time,  in  the  line  of 
argument  which  he  chose.  But  how  does  his  argument 
in  itself  Stand  the  scrutiny  of  one  who  has  no  counter- 
thesis,  such  as  that  of  the  Deists,  to  make  good  against 
Butler  ?     How  does  it  affect  one  who  has  no  wish  at  all 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  125 

to  doubt  or  cavil,  like  the  loose  wits  of  fashionable 
society  who  angered  Butler,  still  less  any  wish  to  mock  ; 
but  who  comes  to  the  A?ialogy  with  an  honest  desire  to 
receive  from  it  anything  which  he  finds  he  can  use  ? 

Now,  I  do  not  remember  to  have  anywhere  seen 
pointed  out  the  precise  break-down,  which  such  an 
inquirer  must,  it  seems  to  me,  be  conscious  of  in  Butler's 
argument  from  analogy.  The  argument  is  of  this  kind : — 
The  reality  of  the  laws  of  moral  government  of  this  world, 
says  Butler,  implies,  by  analogy,  a  like  reality  of  laws  of 
moral  government  in  the  second  world,  where  we  shall 
be  hereafter. — The  analogy  is,  in  truth,  used  to  prove  not 
only  the  probable  continuance  of  the  laws  of  moral 
government,  but  also  the  probable  existence  of  that 
future  world  in  which  they  will  be  manifested.  It  does 
only  prove  the  probable  continuance  of  the  laws  of  moral 
government  in  the  future  world,  supposing  that  second 
world  to  exist.  But  for  that  existence  it  supplies  no 
probability  whatever.  For  it  is  not  the  laws  of  moral 
government  which  give  us  proof  of  this  present  world  in 
which  they  are  manifested  ;  it  is  the  experience  that  this 
present  world  actually  exists,  and  is  a  place  in  which 
these  laws  are  manifested.  Show  us,  we  may  say  to 
Butler,  that  a  like  place  presents  itself  over  again  after 
we  are  dead,  and  we  will  allow  that  by  analogy  the  same 


126  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

moral  laws  will  probably  continue  to  govern  it.  But  this 
is  all  which  analogy  can  prove  in  the  matter.  The 
positive  existence  of  the  world  to  come  must  be  proved, 
like  the  positive  existence  of  the  present  world,  by  ex- 
perience. And  of  this  experience  Butler's  argument  fur- 
nishes, and  can  furnish,  not  one  tittle. 

There  may  be  other  reasons  for  believing  in  a  second 
life  beyond  the  grave.  Christians  in  general  consider 
that  they  get  such  grounds  from  revelation.  And  people 
who  come  to  Butler  with  the  belief  already  established, 
are  not  hkely  to  ask  themselves  very  closely  what  Butler's 
analogical  reasoning  on  its  behalf  is  good  for.  The 
reasoning  is  exercised  in  support  of  a  thesis  which  does 
not  require  to  be  made  out  for  them.  But  whoever 
comes  to  Butler  in  a  state  of  genuine  uncertainty,  and 
has  to  lean  with  his  whole  weight  on  Butler's  reasonings 
for  support,  will  soon  discover  their  fundamental  weak- 
ness. The  weakness  goes  through  the  A?iahgy  from  be- 
ginning to  end.     For  example  :— 

The  states  of  life  in  which  we  ourselves  existed  formerly, 
in  the  womb  and  in  our  infancy,  are  almost  as  different  from 
our  present  in  mature  age  as  it  is  possible  to  conceive  any 
two  States  or  degrees  of  life  can  be.  Therefore,  that  we  are 
to  exist  hereafter  in  a  state  as  different  (suppose)  from  our 
present  as  this  is  from  the  former,  is  but  according  to  the 
analogy  of  nature. 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  127 

There  it  is  in  the  first  chapter !  But  we  have  experience 
of  the  several  different  states  succeeding  one  -another  in 
man's  present  life  ;  that  is  what  makes  us  believe  in  their 
succeeding  one  another  here.  We  have  no  experience 
of  a  further  different  state  beyond  the  limits  of  this  life. 
If  we  had,  we  might  freely  admit  that  analogy  renders  it 
probable  that  that  state  may  be  as  unlike  to  our  actual 
state,  as  our  actual  state  is  to  our  state  in  the  womb  or 
in  infancy.  But  that  there  is  the  further  different  state 
must  first,  for  the  argument  from  analogy  to  take  effect, 
be  proved  from  experience. 
Again  : — 

'  Sleep,  or,  however,  a  swoon,  shows  us,'  says  Butler,  ^  that 
our  living  powers  exist  when  they  are  not  exercised,  and  when 
there  is  no  present  capacity  for  exercising  them.  Therefore, 
there  can  no  probability  be  collected  from  the  reason  of  the 
thing  that  death  will  be  their  destruction.' 

But  '  the  reason  of  the  thing,'  in  this  matter,  is  simply 
experience  ;  and  we  have  experience  of  the  living  powers 
existing  on  through  a  swoon,  we  have  none  of  their 
existing  on  through  death. 

Or,  again,  the  form  of  the  argument  being  altered,  but 
its  vice  being  still  of  just  the  same  character  : — *All 
presumption  of  death's  being  the  destruction  of  living 
beings   must  go   upon   supposition  that  they  are  com- 


128  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

pounded  and  so  discerptible.'  So  says  Butler,  and  then 
off  he  goes  upon  a  metaphysical  argument  about  con- 
sciousness being  a  single  and  indivisible  power.  But  a 
doubter,  who  is  dealing  quite  simply  with  himself,  will 
stop  Butler  before  ever  his  metaphysical  argument  begins, 
and  say:  'Not  at  all ;  the  presumption  of  death's  being 
the  destruction  of  living  beings  does  not  go  upon  the 
supposition  that  they  are  compounded  and  so  discerp- 
tible ;  it  goes  upon  the  unbroken  experience  that  the 
living  powers  then  cease.' 

Once  more.  '  We  see  by  experience,'  says  Butler, 
'  that  men  may  lose  their  limbs,  their  organs  of  sense, 
and  even  the  greatest  part  of  their  bodies,  and  yet  remain 
the  same  living  agents.'  Yes,  we  do.  But  that  con- 
scious life  is  possible  yN\\hsome  of  our  bodily  organs  gone, 
does  not  prove  that  it  is  possible  without  any .  We  admit 
the  first  because  it  is  shown  to  us  by  experience ;  we  have 
no  experience  of  the  second. 

I  say,  a  man  who  is  looking  seriously  for  firm  ground, 
cannot  but  soon  come  to  perceive  what  Butler's  argu- 
ment in  the  Analogy  really  amounts  to,  and  that  there 
is  no  help  to  be  got  from  it.  '  There  is  no  shadow  of 
anything  unreasonable,'  begins  Butler  always,  'in  con- 
ceiving so-and-so, — in  the  conception  of  natural  religion, 
in  the  conception  of  revealed  religion.'     The  answer  of 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  129 

any  earnest  man  must  be  in  some  words  of  Butler's 
own  :  '  Suppositions  are  not  to  be  looked  on  as  true, 
because  not  incredible.'  '  But,'  says  Butler,  'it  is  a  fact 
that  this  life  exists,  and  there  are  analogies  in  this  life  to 
the  supposed  system  of  natural  and  revealed  religion. 
The  existence  of  that  system,  therefore,  is  a  fact  also.' 
'  Nay,'  is  the  answer,  'but  we  affirm  the  fact  of  this  life, 
not  because  "  there  is  no  shadow  of  anything  unreasonable 
in  conceiving  it,"  but  because  we  experience  it.'  As  to 
the/z^/,  experience  is  the  touchstone. 

'There  is  nothing  incredible/  argues  Butler  again, 
'  that  God,  the  moral  and  intelligent  Author  of  all  things, 
will  reward  and  punish  men  for  their  actions  hereafter, 
for  the  whole  course  of  nature  is  a  present  instance  of 
his  exercising  that  government  over  us  which  impHes  in 
it  rewarding  and  punishing.'  But  how  far  does  our 
positive  experience  go  in  this  matter  ?  What  is  fact  of 
positive  experience  is,  that  inward  satisfaction  (let  us 
fully  concede  this  to  Butler)  follows  one  sort  of  actions, 
and  inward  dissatisfaction  another ;  and,  moreover,  that 
also  outward  rewards  and  punishments  do  very  gene- 
rally follow  certain  actions.  In  this  sense  we  are  pu- 
nished and  rewarded  ;  that  is  certain.  And  one  must 
add,  surely,  that  our  not  being  punished  and  rewarded 
more   completely   and  regularly  might   quite  well,  one 

K 


I30  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

would  think,  have  been  what  suggested  to  mankind  the 
notion  of  a  second  life,  with  a  restitution  of  all  things. 
But,  be  that  as  it  may,  we  have  no  experience^ — I  say 
what  is  the  mere  undoubted  fact, — we  have  no  experi- 
ence that  it  is  a  quasi-human  agent,  whom  Butler  calls 
the  Author  of  Nature,  a  Being  moral  and  intelligent,  who 
thus  rewards  and  punishes  us. 

But  Butler  alleges,  that  we  have,  not  indeed  expe- 
rience of  this,  but  demonstration.  For  he  says  that  a 
uniform  course  of  operation,  this  world  as  we  see  it,  nature, 
necessarily  implies  an  operating  agent.  It  necessarily 
implies  an  intelligent  designer  with  a  will  and  a  character, 
a  ruler  all-wise  and  all-powerful.  And  this  quasi-human 
agent,  this  intelligent  designer  with  a  will  and  a  character, 
since  he  is  all-wise  and  all-powerful,  and  since  he  governs 
the  world,  and  evidently,  by  what  we  see  of  natural  rewards 
and  punishments,  exercises  moral  government  over  us  here, 
but  admittedly  not  more  than  in  some  degree,  not  yet  the 
perfection  of  moral  government, — this  Governor  must 
be  reserving  the  complete  consummation  of  his  moral 
government  for  a  second  world  hereafter.  And  the 
strength  of  Butler's  argument  against  the  Deists  lay  here: 
that  they  held,  as  he  did,  that  a  quasi-human  agent,  an 
intelligent  designer  with  a  will  and  a  character,  was  de- 
monstrably the  author  and  governor  of  nature. 

But  in  this  supposed  demonstrably  true  starting-point. 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  131 

common  both  to  Butler  and  to  the  Deists,  we  are  in  full 
metaphysics.  We  are  in  that  world  of  '  mere  abstraction 
or  shadowy  speculation/  from  which  Butler  was  said  to 
have  rescued  us  and  placed  us  on  the  firm  basis  of  ob- 
servation and  experiment.  The  proposition  that  this 
world,  as  we  see  it,  necessarily  implies  an  intelligent  de-  • 
signer  with  a  will  and  a  character,  a  quasi-human  agent 
and  governor,  cannot,  I  think,  but  be  felt,  by  any  one 
who  is  brought  fairly  face  to  face  with  it. and  has  to  rest 
everything  upon  it,  not  to  be  self-demonstrating,  nay,  to 
be  utterly  impalpable.  Evidently  it  is  not  of  the  same 
experimental  character  as  the  proposition  that  we  ai-e 
rewarded  and  punished  according  to  our  actions  ;  or 
that,  as  St.  Augustine  says :  Sibi  pcena  est  omnis  in- 
ordinatus  animus.  The  proposition  of  St.  Augustine 
produces,  when  it  is  urged,  a  sense  of  satisfying  con- 
viction, and  we  can  go  on  to  build  upon  it.  But  will 
any  one  say  that  the  proposition,  that  the  course  of 
nature  implies  an  operating  agent  with  a  will  and  a  cha- 
racter, produces  or  can  produce  a  like  sense  of  satisfying 
conviction,  and  can  in  like  manner  be  built  upon  ?  It 
cannot.  It  does  not  appeal,  like  the  other,  to  what  is 
solid.  It  appeals,  really,  to  the  deep  anthropomorphic 
tendency  in  man  ;  and  this  tendency,  when  we  examine 
the  thing  coolly,  we  feel  that  we  cannot  trust. 


132  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


However,  the  proposition  is  thought  to  have  scien- 
tific support  in  arguments  drawn  from  being,  essence.  But 
even  thus  supported  it  never,  I  think,  can  produce  in 
any  one  a  sense  of  satisfying  conviction  ;  it  produces,  at 
most,  a  sense  of  puzzled  submission.  To  build  religion, 
or  anything  else  which  is  to  stand  firm,  upon  such  a 
sense  as  this,  is  vain.  Religion  must  be  built  on  ideas 
about  which  there  is  no  puzzle.  Therefore,  in  order  to 
get  rid  of  this  foundation  of  puzzle  for  religion,  and  with 
a  view  to  substituting  a  surer  foundation,  I  have  elsewhere 
tried  to  show  in  what  confusion  the  metaphysical  argu- 
ments drawn  from  being,  essence,  for  an  intelligent  author 
of  nature  with  a  will  and  a  character,  have  their  rise.  The 
assertion  of  such  an  author  is  then  left  with  our  anthro- 
pomorphic instinct  as  its  sole  warrant,  and  is  seen  not  to 
be  a  safe  foundation  whereon  to  build  all  our  certainties 
in  religion.  It  is  not  axiomatic,  it  is  not  experimental. 
It  deals  with  what  is,  in  my  judgment,  altogether  beyond 
our  experience  ;  it  is  purely  abstract  and  speculative.  A 
plain  man,  when  he  is  asked  how  he  can  affirm  that  a 
house  is  made  by  an  intelligent  designer  with  a  will  and 
a  character,  and  yet  doubt  whether  a  tree  is  made  by  an 
intelligent  designer  with  a  will  and  a  character,  must 
surely  answer  that  he  affirms  a  house  to  have  been 
made  by  such  a  designer  because  he  has  experience  of 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST,  133 

the  fact,  but  that  of  the  fact  of  a  tree  being  made  by- 
such  a  designer  he  has  none.  And  if  pressed,  how  then 
can  the  tree  possibly  be  there  ?  surely  the  answer  :  '  Per- 
haps from  the  tendency  to  grow ! '  is  not  so  very 
unreasonable. 

Butler  admits  that  the  assertion  of  his  all-foreseeing, 
all-powerful  designer,  with  a  will  and  a  character,  involves 
grave  difficulties.  '  Why  anything  of  hazard  and  danger 
should  be  put  upon  such  frail  creatures  as  we  are,  may 
well  be  thought  a  difficulty  in  speculation.'  But  he 
appeals,  and  no  man  ever  appealed  more  impressively 
than  he,  to  the  sense  we  must  have  of  our  ignorance. 
Difficulties  of  this  kind,  he  says,  '  are  so  apparently  and 
wholly  founded  in  our  ignorance,  that  it  is  wonderful 
they  should  be  insisted  upon  by  any  but  such  as  are 
weak  enough  to  think  they  are  acquainted  with  the 
whole  system  of  things.'  And  he  speaks  of  '  that  in- 
finitely absurd  supposition  that  we  know  the  whole  of  the 
case.'  But  does  not  the  common  account  of  God  by 
theologians,  does  not  Butler's  own  assertion  of  the  all- 
foreseeing,  quasi-human  designer,  with  a  will  and  a 
character,  go  upon  the  supposition  that  we  know,  at  any 
rate,  a  very  great  deal,  and  more  than  we  actually  do 
know,  of  the  case  ?  And  are  not  the  difficulties  alleged 
created  by  that  supposition  ?     And  is  not  the  appeal  to 


134 


BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


our  ignorance  in  fact  an  appeal  to  us,  having  taken  a 
great  deal  for  granted,  to  take  something  more  for 
granted  : — namely,  that,  what  we  at  first  took  for  granted 
has  a  satisfactory  solution  somewhere  beyond  the  reach 
of  our  knowledge  ? 

Then,  however,  the  argument  from  analogy  is  again 
used  to  solve  our  difficulties.  It  is  hard  to  understand 
how  an  almighty  moral  Creator  and  Governor,  designing 
the  world  as  a  place  of  moral  discipline  for  man,  should 
have  so  contrived  things  that  the  moral  discipline  altogether 
fails,  in  a  vast  number  of  cases,  to  take  effect.  Butler, 
however,  urges,  that  the  world  may  have  been  intended 
by  its  infinite  almighty  Author  and  Governor  for  moral 
discipline,  although,  even,  'the  generality  of  men  do  not 
improve  or  grow  better  in  it;'  because  we  see  that  'of 
the  seeds  of  vegetables,  and  bodies  of  animals,  far  the 
greatest  part  decay  before  they  are  improved  to  maturity, 
and  appear  to  be  utterly  destroyed.'  But  surely  the 
natural  answer  is,  that  there  is  no  difficulty  about  millions 
of  seeds  missing  their  perfection,  because  we  do  not 
suppose  nature  an  Infinite  Almighty  and  Moral  Being ; 
but  that  the  difficulty  in  the  other  case  is  because  we  do 
suppose  God  such  a  Being. 

However,  against  the  Deists  who  started  with  as- 
suming a  quasi-human  agent,  a  Being  of  infinite  wisdom 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  135 

and  power  with  a  will  and  a  character,  as  a  necessary- 
conception,  Butler's  argument  is  very  effective.  And  he 
says  expressly  that  in  his  Analogy  the  validity  of  this 
conception  'is  a  principle  gone  upon  as  proved,  and 
generally  known  and  confessed  to  be  proved.'  But, 
however,  Butler  in  his  Analogy  affirms  also  (and  the 
thing  is  important  to  be  noted)  '  the  direct  and  funda- 
mental proof  of  Christianity'  to  be,  just  what  the  mass  of 
its  adherents  have  always  supposed  it  to  be  : — miracles 
and  the  fulfilment  of  prophecy.  And  from  a  man  like 
Butler  this  dictum  will  certainly  require  attention,  even 
on  the  part  of  an  inquirer  who  feels  that  Butler's  meta- 
physics, and  his  argument  from  analogy,  are  unavailing. 

But  any  clear-sighted  inquirer  will  soon  perceive  that 
Butler's  ability  for  handling  these  important  matters  of 
miracles  and  prophecy  is  not  in  proportion  to  his  great 
powers  of  mind,  and  to  his  vigorous  and  effective  use  of 
those  powers  on  other  topics.  Butler  could  not  well, 
indeed,  have  then  handled  miracles  and  prophecy  satis- 
factorily ;  the  time  was  not  ripe  for  it.  Men's  knowledge 
increases,  their  point  of  view  changes,  they  come  to 
see  things  differently.  That  is  the  reason,  without  any 
pretence  of  intellectual  superiority,  why  men  are  now 
able  to  view  miracles  and  prophecy  more  justly  than 
Butler  did.     The  insufficiency  of  his  treatment  of  them  is, 


136  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

indeed,  manifest.  Can  anything  be  more  express  or  de- 
terminate, he  asks,  than  the  fulfilment  of  prophecy  men- 
tioned in  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews, — the  fulfilment  of 
the  words,  '  Sacrifice  and  offering  thou  wouldest  not, 
but  a  body  hast  thou  prepared  me,'  by  the  offering  for 
man's  sins  of  the  body  of  Jesus  Christ  upon  the  cross  ? 
A  man  like  Butler  could  not  nowadays  use  an  argument 
like  that.  He  could  not  be  unaware  that  the  writer  of 
the  Epistle  is  using  the  false  rendering  of  the  Greek 
Bible,  a  body  hast  thou  prepared  me,  instead  of  the  true 
rendering  of  the  original,  mine  ears  hast  thou  opened,  and 
gets  his  fulfilment  of  prophecy  out  of  that  false  render- 
ing j — a  fulfilment,  therefore,  which  is  none  at  all. 

Neither  could  Butler  now  speak  of  the  Bible-history 
being  all  of  it  equally  'authentic  genuine  history,'  or 
argue  in  behalf  of  this  thesis  as  he  does.  It  must  evi- 
dently all  stand  or  fall  together,  he  argues  ;  now,  '  there 
are  characters  in  the  Bible  with  all  the  internal  marks 
imaginable  of  their  being  real.'  Most  true,  is  the  answer  ; 
there  is  plenty  of  fact  in  the  Bible,  there  is  also  plenty  of 
legend.  John  the  Baptist  and  Simon  Peter  have  all  the 
internal  marks  imaginable  of  their  being  real  characters  ;> 
granted.  But  one  Gospel  makes  Jesus  disappear  into 
Egypt  directly  after  his  birth,  another  makes  him  stay 
quietly   on   in  Palestine.     That  John   the  Baptist  and 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  137 

Simon  Peter  are  real  characters  does  not  make  this 
consistent  history.  As  well  say  that  because  Mirabeau 
and  Danton  are  real  characters,  an  addition  to  Louis 
the  Sixteenth's  history  which  made  him  to  be  spirited 
away  from  Varennes  into  Germany,  and  then  to  come 
back  after  some  time  and  resume  his  career  in  France, 
would  not  jar.  No.  '  Things  are  what  they  are,  and 
the  consequences  of  them  will  be  what  they  will  be.' 
And  the  accounts  in  the  Gospels  of  the  Holy  Child's 
incarnation  and  infancy,  and  very  many  things  in  the 
Bible  besides,  are  legends. 

Again.  '  The  belief  of  miracles  by  the  Apostles  and 
their  contemporaries  must  be  a  proof  of  those  facts,  for 
they  were  such  as  came  under  the  observation  of  their 
senses.'  The  simple  answer  is  :  '  But  we  know  what  the 
observation  of  men's  senses,  under  certain  circumstances, 
is  worth.'  Yet  further  :  '  Though  it  is  not  of  equal 
weight,  yet  it  is  of  weight,  that  the  martyrs  of  the  next 
age,  notwithstanding  they  were  not  eye-witnesses  of  those 
facts,  as  were  the  Apostles  and  their  contemporaries,  had 
however  full  opportunity  to  inform  themselves  whether 
they  were  true  or  not,  and  gave  equal  proof  of  their  be- 
lieving them  to  be  true.'  The  simple  answer  again  is  : 
'  The  martyrs  never  dreamed  of  informing  themselves 
about  the  miracles  in   the  manner  supposed;   for   they 


138  BISHOP   BUTLER  AND 

never  dreamed  of  doubting  them,  and  could  not  have 
dreamed  of  it.'  If  Butler  cannot  prove  religion  and 
Christianity  by  his  reasonings  from  metaphysics  and 
from  analogy,  most  certainly  he  will  not  prove  them  by 
these  reasonings  on  Bible-history. 

But  the  wonderful  thing  about  the  Aiialogy  is  the 
poor  insignificant  result,  even  in  Butler's  own  judgment, — 
the  puny  total  outcome, — of  all  this  accumulated  evidence 
from  analogy,  metaphysics,  and  Bible-history.  It  is, 
after  all,  only  '  evidence  which  keeps  the  mind  in  doubt, 
perhaps  in  perplexity.'  The  utmost  it  is  calculated  to 
beget  is,  '  a  serious  doubting  apprehension  that  it  may  be 
true.'  However,  '  in  the  daily  course  of  life,'  says  Butler, 
*  our  nature  and  condition  necessarily  require  us  to  act 
upon  evidence  much  lower  than  what  is  commonly  called 
probable.'  In  a  matter,  then,  of  such  immense  practical 
importance  as  religion,  where  the  bad  consequences  of  a 
mistake  may  be  so  incalculable,  we  ought,  he  says,  un- 
hesitatingly to  act  upon  imperfect  evidence.  '  It  ought, 
in  all  reason,  considering  its  infinite  importance,  to  have 
nearly  the  same  influence  upon  practice,  as  if  it  were 
thoroughly  believed  ' '  And  such  is,  really,  the  upshot 
of  the  A?ialogy.  Such  is,  when  all  is  done,  the  '  happy 
alliance '  achieved  by  it  '  between  faith  and  philosophy.' 

But  we  do  not,  in  the  daily  course  of  life,  act  upon 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  139 

evidence  which  we  ourselves  conceive  to  be  much  lower 
than  what  is  commonly  called  probable.  If  T  am  going 
to  take  a  walk  out  of  Edinburgh,  and  thought  of  choosing 
the  Portobello  road,  and  a  travelling  menagerie  is  taking 
the  same  road,  it  is  certainly  possible  that  a  tiger  may 
escape  from  the  menagerie  and  devour  me  if  I  take  that 
road ;  but  the  evidence  that  he  will  is  certainly,  also,  much 
lower  than  what  is  commonly  called  probable.  Well,  I 
do  not,  on  that  low  degree  of  evidence,  avoid  the  Porto- 
bello road  and  take  another.  But  the  duty  of  acting 
on  such  a  sort  of  evidence  is  really  made  by  Butler  the 
motive  for  a  man's  following  the  road  of  religion, — the 
way  of  peace. 

How  unlike,  above  all,  is  this  motive  to  the  motive 
always  supposed  in  the  book  itself  of  our  religion,  in  the 
Bible  !  After  reading  the  Analogy  one  goes  instinctively 
to  bathe  one's  spirit  in  the  Bible  again,  to  be  refreshed 
by  its  boundless  certitude  and  exhilaration.  '  The  Eter- 
nal is  the  strength  of  my  life  ! '  '  The  foundation  of  God 
standeth  sure  ' ! — that  is  the  constant  tone  of  religion  in 
the  Bible.  '■  If  I  tell  you  the  truth,  why  do  ye  not  be- 
lieve me  ? — the  evident  truth,  that  whoever  comes  to  me 
has  life ;  and  evident,  because  whoever  does  come,  gets 
it ! '  That  is  the  evidence  to  constrain  our  practice  which 
is  offered  by  Christianity. 


I40  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 


Let  us,  then,  confess  it  to  ourselves  plainly.  The 
Analogy,  the  great  work  on  which  such  immense  praise 
has  been  lavished,  is,  for  all  real  intents  and  purposes 
now,  a  failure  ;  it  does  not  serve.  It  seemed  once  to 
have  a  spell  and  a  power ;  but  the  Zeit-Geist  breathes 
upon  it,  and  we  rub  our  eyes,  and  it  has  the  spell  and  the 
power  no  longer.  It  has  the  effect  upon  me,  as  I 
contemplate  it,  of  a  stately  and  severe  fortress,  with 
thick  and  high  walls,  built  of  old  to  control  the  kingdom 
of  evil ; — but  the  gates  are  open,  and  the  guards  gone. 

For  to  control  the  kingdom  of  evil  the  work  was,  no 
doubt,  designed.  Whatever  may  be  the  proper  ten- 
dencies of  Deism  as  a  speculative  opinion,  there  can  be 
no  doubt,  I  think,  that  the  loose  Deism  of  fashionable 
circles,  as  seen  by  Butler,  had  a  tendency  to  minimise 
religion  and  morality,  to  reduce  and  impair  their  authority. 
Butler's  Deists  were,  m  fact,  for  the  most  part  free-living 
people  who  said.  We  are  Deists,  as  the  least  they  could 
say ;  as  another  mode  of  saying  :  '  We  think  little  of 
religion  in  general,  and  of  Christianity  in  particular.' 
Butler,  who  felt  to  the  bottom  of  his  soul  the  obligation 
of  religion  in  general,  and  of  Christianity  in  particular,  set 
himself  to  establish  the  obligation  of  them  against  these 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  141 

lax  people,  who  in  fact  denied  it.  And  the  religion  and 
the  Christianity,  of  which  Butler  set  himself  to  establish 
the  obhgation,  were  religion  and  Christianity  in  the  form 
then  received  and  current.  And  in  this  form  he  could 
estabhsh  their  obligation  as  against  his  Deistical  oppo- 
nents. But  he  could  not  estabhsh  them  so  as  quite  to 
suit  his  own  mind  and  soul,  so  as  to  satisfy  himself  fully. 
Hence  his  labour  and  sorrow,  his  air  of  weariness, 
depression,  and  gloom ; — the  air  of  a  man  who  cannot 
get  beyond  '  evidence  which  keeps  the  mind  in  doubt, 
perhaps  in  perplexity.'  Butler  '  most  readily  acknow- 
ledges that  the  foregoing  treatise '  (his  Analogy)  '  is  by  no 
means  satisfactory  ;  very  far  indeed  from  it'  He  quotes 
the  Preacher's  account  of  what  he  himself  had  found  in 
life,  as  the  true  account  of  what  man  may  expect  here 
below  : — ■'  Great  ignorance  of  the  works  of  God  and  the 
method  of  his  providence  in  the  government  pf  the  world; 
great  labour  and  weariness  in  the  search  and  observa- 
tion he  employs  himself  about ;  and  great  disappoint- 
ment, pain,  and  even  vexation  of  mind  upon  that  which 
he  remarks  of  the  appearances  of  things  and  of  what  is 
going  forward  upon  this  earth.'  'The  result  of  the 
Preacher's  whole  review  and  inspection  is,'  says  Butler, 
*  sorrow,  perplexity,  a  sense  of  his  necessary  ignorance.' 
That  is  certainly  a  true  description  of  the  impression  the 


142  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

Preacher  leaves  on  us  of  his  own  frame  of  mind ;  and 
it  is  not  a  bad  description  of  Butler's  frame  of  mind  also. 
But  so  far  is  it  from  being  a  true  description  of  the  right 
tone  and  temper  of  man  according  to  the  Bible-conception 
of  it,  that  the  Book  of  Ecclesiastes,  which  seems  to  re- 
commend that  temper,  w^as  nearly  excluded  from  the 
Canon  on  this  very  account,  and  was  only  saved  by  its 
animating  return,  in  its  last  verses,  to  the  genuine  tradition 
of  Israel  :  *  Let  us  hear  the  conclusion  of  the  whole 
matter :  fear  God  and  keep  his  commandments,  for  that 
is  the  whole  duty  of  man.' 

But  yet,  in  spite  of  his  gloom,  in  spite  of  the  failure 
of  his  Analogy  to  serve  our  needs,  Butler  remains  a 
personage  of  real  grandeur  for  us.  This  pathetic  figure, 
with  its  earnestness,  its  strenuous  rectitude,  its  firm  faith 
both  in  religion  and  in  reason,  does  in  some  measure 
help  us,  does  point  the  way  for  us.  Butler's  profound 
sense,  that  inattention  to  religion  implies  '  a  dissolute  im- 
moral temper  of  mind,'  engraves  itself  upon  his  readers' 
thoughts  also,  and  comes  to  govern  them.  His  convic- 
tion, that  religion  and  Christianity  do  somehow  '  in  them- 
selves entirely  fall  in  with  our  natural  sepse  of  things,'  that 
they  are  true,  and  that  their  truth,  moreover,  is  somehow 
to  be  established  and  justified  on  plain  grounds  of  reason, 
— this  wholesome  and  invaluable  conviction,  also,  gains 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  143 


us  as  we  read  him.  The  ordinary  reHgionists  of  Butler's 
day  might  well  be  startled,  as  they  were,  by  this  bishop 
with  the  strange,  novel,  and  unhallowed  notion,  full  of 
dangerous  consequence,  of '  referring  mankind  to  a  law 
of  nature  or  virtue,  written  on  their  hearts.'  The  pamph- 
leteer, who  accused  Butler  of  dying  a  Papist,  declares 
plainly  that  he  for  his  part  'has  no  better  opinion  of 
the  certainty,  clearness,  uniformity,  universality,  &c.,  of 
this  law,  than  he  has  of  the  importance  of  external  re- 
ligion.' But  Butler  did  believe  in  the  certainty  of  this 
law.  It  was  the  real  foundation  of  things  for  him. 
With  awful  reverence,  he  saluted,  and  he  set  himself  to 
study  and  to  follow,  this  '  course  of  life  marked  out  for 
man  by  nature,  whatever  that  nature  be.'  And  he  was 
for  perfect  fairness  of  mind  in  considering  the  evidence 
for  this  law,  or  for  anything  else.  'It  is  fit  things  be 
stated  and  considered  as  they  really  are.'  '  Thin^^s  are 
what  they  are,  and  the  consequences  of  them  w\\\  be  what 
they  ^\'ill  be;  why,  then,  should  we  desire  to  be  deceived  ? ' 
And  he  believed  in  reason.  'I  express  myself  with 
caution,  lest  I  should  be  mistaken  to  vilify  reason,  which 
is  indeed  the  only  faculty  we  have  wherewith  to  judge 
concerning  anything,  even  religion  itself.'  Such  was 
Butler's  fidehty  to  that  sacred  light  to  which  religion 
makes  too  many  people  false, — reason. 


144  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

It  always  seems  to  me,  that  with  Butler's  deep  sense 
that  'the  government  of  the  world  is  carried  on  by 
general  laws ; '  with  his  deep  sense,  too,  of  our  ignorance, — 
nay,  that  '  it  is  indeed,  in  general,  no  more  than  effects 
that  the  most  knowing  are  acquainted  with,  for  as  to 
causes,  they  are  as  entirely  in  the  dark  as  the  most  ig- 
norant,'— he  would  have  found  no  insuperable  difficulty 
in  bringing  himself  to  regard  the  power  of  *  the  law  of 
virtue  we  are  born  under,'  as  an  idea  equivalent  to  the 
religious  idea  of  the  power  of  God,  without  determining, 
or  thinking  that  he  had  the  means  to  determine,  whether 
this  power  was  a  quasi-human  agent  or  not.  But  a 
second  world  under  a  righteous  judge,  who  should  redress 
the  imperfect  balance  of  things  as  they  are  in  this  world, 
seemed  to  Butler  indispensable.  Yet  no  one  has  spoken 
more  truly  and  nobly  than  he,  of  the  natural  victoriousness 
of  virtue,  even  in  this  world.  He  finds  a  tendency  of 
virtue  to  prevail,  which  he  can  only  describe  as  '  some- 
what moral  in  the  essential  constitution  of  things ; '  as  '  a 
declaration  from  the  Author  of  Nature,  determinate  and 
not  to  be  evaded,  in  favour  of  virtue  and  against  vice.' 
True,  virtue  is  often  overborne.  But  this  is  plainly  a 
perversion.  '  Our  finding  virtue  to  be  hindered  from 
procuring  to  itself  its  due  superiority  and  advantages,  is 
no  objection  against  its  having,  in  the  essential  nature  of 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  145 

the  thing,  a  tendency  to  procure  them/  And  he  can  see, 
he  says,  '  in  the  nature  of  things,  a  tendency  in  virtue  and 
vice  to  produce  the  good  and  bad  effects  now  mentioned, 
in  a  greater  degree  than  they  do  in  fact  produce  them.' 
Length  of  time,  however,  is  required  for  working  this 
fully  out ;  whereas  '  men  are  impatient  and  for  precipi- 
tating things.'  '  There  must  be  sufficient  length  of  time  ; 
the  complete  success  of  virtue,  as  of  reason,  cannot, 
from  the  nature  of  the  thing,  be  otherwise  than  gradual.' 
'Still,  the  constitution  of  our  nature  is  as  it  is  ;  our  hap- 
piness and  misery  are  trusted  to  our  conduct,  and  made 
to  depend  upon  it.'  And  our  comfort  of  hope  is,  that 
'■  though  the  higher  degree  of  distributive  justice,  which 
nature  points  out  and  leads  towards,  is  prevented  for  a 
time  from  taking  place,  it  is  by  obstacles  which  the  state 
of  this  world  unhappily  throws  in  its  way,  and  which  are 
in  their  nature  temporary.'  And  Butler  supposes  and 
describes  an  ideal  society  upon  earth,  where  '  this  happy 
tendency  of  virtue,'  as  he  calls  it,  should  at  last  come  to 
prevail,  in  a  way  which  brings  straight  to  our  thoughts 
and  to  our  lips  the  Bible-expression  :  the  kingdom  of  God. 
However,  Butler  decides  that  good  men  cannot  now  unite 
sufficiently  to  bring  this  better  society  about;  that  it 
cannot,  therefore,  be  brought  about  in  the  present  known 

L 


146  BISHOP  BUTLER  AND 

course  of  nature,  and  that  it  must  be  meant  to  come  to 
pass  in  another  world  beyond  the  grave. 

Now,  the  very  expression  which  I  have  just  used,  the 
kingdom  of  God,  does  certainly,  however  little  it  may  at 
present  be  usual  with  religious  people  to  think  so,  it  does 
certainly  suggest  a  different  conclusion  from  Butler's.     It 
does   point   to  a  transfonnation   of  this   present  world 
through  the  victory  of  what  Butler  calls  virtue,  and  what 
the  Bible  calls  righteousness,  and  what  in  general  religious 
people  call  goodness  ;  it  does  suggest  such  transformation 
as   possible.     This  transformation   is  the  great   original 
idea  of  the   Christian  Gospel  ;    nay,  it  is  properly  the 
Gospel  or  good  neius  itself.     '■  The  kingdom  of  God  is  at 
hand,'  said  Jesus  Christ,  when  he  first  came  preaching ; 
*  repent,  and  believe  the  good  news.'  Jesus  '  talked '  to  the 
people  'about  the  kingdom  of  God.'     He  told  the  young 
man,  whom  he  called  to  follow  him,  to  '  go  and  spread 
the  news  of  the  kingdom  of  God.'     In  the  Acts,  we  find 
the  disciples  'preaching  the  kingdom  of  God/ 'testifying 
concerning  the  kingdom  of  God,'  still  in  their  Master's 
manner  and  words.     And  it  is  undeniable  that  whoever 
thinks   that   virtue   and   goodness   will   finally   come  to 
prevail  in  this  present  world  so  as  to  transfonn  it,  who 
believes  that  they  are    even   now  surely  though  slowly 
prevailing,  and  himself  does  all  he  can  to  help  the  work 


THE  ZEIT-GEIST.  i47 

forward,— as  he  acquires  in  this  way  an  experimental 
sense  of  the  truth  of  Christianity  which  is  of  the 
strongest  possible  kind,  so  he  is,  also,  entirely  in  the  tra- 
dition and  ideas  of  the  Founder  of  Christianity.  In 
like  manner,  whoever  places  immortal  life  in  coming  to 
live,  even  here  in  this  present  world,  with  that  higher 
and  impersonal  life  on  which,  in  speaking  of  self-love, 
we  insisted, — and  in  thus  no  longer  living  to  himself  but 
living,  as  St.  Paul  says,  to  6^^^,— does  entirely  conform 
himself  to  the  doctrine  and  example  of  the  Saviour  of 
mankind,  Jesus  Christ,  who  '  annulled  death,  and  brought 
life  and  immortality  to  light  through  the  Gospel.'  And 
could  Butler,  whose  work  has  many  precious  and  in- 
structive pointings  this  way,  have  boldly  entered  the  way 
and  steadily  pursued  it,  his  work  would  not,  I  think, 
have  borne  the  embarrassed,  inconclusive,  and  even 
mournful  character,  which  is  apparent  in  it  now. 

Let  us  not,  however,  overrate  the  mournfulness  of 
this  great  man,  or  underrate  his  consolations.  The  power 
of  religion  which  actuated  him  was,  as  is  the  case  with  so 
many  of  us,  better,  profounder,  and  happier,  than  the 
scheme  of  religion  which  he  could  draw  out  in  his  books. 
Nowhere  does  this  power  show  itself  more  touchingly 
than  in  a  fragment  or  two,— memoranda  for  his  own  use, — 
which   are   among   the   last  things   that  his   pen'  wrote 

L  2 


148     BISHOP  BUTLER  AND  THE  ZEIT-GEIST. 

before  death  brushed  it  from  his  hand  for  ever.  'Hunger 
and  thirst  after  righteousness/  he  writes,  '  till  filled  with 
it  by  being  made  partaker  of  the  divine  nature  ! '  And 
again  he  writes,  using  and  underscoring  words  of  the 
Latin  Vulgate  which  are  more  earnest  and  expressive 
than  the  words  of  our  English  version  in  that  place  : 
*  Siait  ociili  servo?'iim  intenti  sunt  ad  inanwn  dominorum 
suorunij  siciit  oculi  ancillce  ad  inanuvi  domincB  suce,  ita 
ociili  nosU'i  ad  Deum  nostrum^  donee  miser eatur  nostri; — 
As  the  eyes  of  servants  are  bent  towards  the  hand  of  their 
masters,  and  the  eyes  of  a  maiden  towards  the  hand  of 
her  mistress,  even  so  are  our  eyes  towards  our  God,  until 
he  have  mercy  upon  us.' 

Let  us  leave  Butler,  after  all  our  long  scrutiny  of  him, 
with  these  for  his  last  words  ! 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  149 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND} 

I  HAVE  heard  it  confidently  asserted,  that  the  Church  of 
England  is  an  institution  so  thoroughly  artificial,  and  of 
which  the  justification,  if  any  justification  for  it  can  be 
found,  must  be  sought  in  reasons  so  extremely  far-fetched, 
that  only  highly  trained  and  educated  people  can  be 
made  to  see  that  it  has  a  possible  defence  at  all,  and 
that  to  undertake  its  defence  before  a  plain  audience  of 
working  men  would  be  hopeless.  It  would  be  very 
interesting  to  try  the  experiment ;  and  I  had  long  had 
a  half-formed  design  of  endeavouring  to  show  to  an 
audience  of  working  men  the  case,  as  I  for  my  part 
conceived  it,  on  behalf  of  the  Church  of  England.  But 
meanwhile  there  comes  to  me  my  friend,  your  President, 
and  reminds  me  of  an  old  request  of  his  that  I  should 
some  day  speak  in  this  hall,  and  presses  me  to  comply 
with  it  this  very  season.  And  if  I  am  to  speak  at  Sion 
College,  and  to  the  London  clergy,  and  at  this  juncture, 

'  The  foUowing  discourse  was  delivered  as  an  address  to  the 
London  clergy  at  Sion  College. 


I50  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

how  can  I  help  remembering  my  old  design  of  speaking 
about  the  Church  of  England  ; — remembering  it,  and 
being  tempted,  though  before  a  very  different  audience, 
to  take  that  subject? 

Jeremy  Taylor  says  :  '  Every  minister  ought  to  con- 
cern himself  in  the  faults  of  them  that  are  present,  but 
not  of  the  absent'  '  Every  minister,'  he  says  again, 
'  ought  to  preach  to  his  hearers  and  urge  their  duty  ;  St. 
John  the  Baptist  told  the  soldiers  what  the  soldiers  should - 
do,  but  troubled  not  their  heads  with  what  was  the  duty 
of  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees.'  And  certainly  one  should 
not  defend  the  Church  of  England  to  an  audience  of 
clergy  and  to  an  audience  of  artisans  in  quite  the  same 
way.  But  perhaps  one  ought  not  to  care  to  put  at  all 
before  the  clergy  the  case  for  the  Church  of  England, 
but  rather  one  should  bring  before  them  the  case  against 
it.  For  the  case  of  the  Church  of  England  is  supposed 
to  be  their  own  case,  and  they  are  the  parties  interested ; 
and  to  commend  their  own  case  to  the  parties  interested 
is  useless,  but  what  may  do  them  most  good  is  rather  to 
show  them  its  defects.  And  in  this  view,  the  profitable 
thing  for  the  London  clergy  at  Sion  College  to  hear, 
would  be,  perhaps,  a  lecture  on  disestablishment,  an 
exhortation  to  '  happy  despatch.' 

Yet  this  is  not  so,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  Church 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  151 

of  England  is  not  a  private  sect  but  a  national  institution. 
There  can  be  no  greater  mistake  than  to  regard  the  cause 
of  the  Church  of  England  as  the  cause  of  the  clergy,  and 
the  clergy  as  the  parties  concerned  for  the  maintenance  of 
the  Church  of  England.  The  clergy  are  a  very  small  mino- 
rity of  the  nation.  As  the  Church  of  England  will  not  be 
abolished  to  gratify  the  jealousy  of  this  and  that  private 
sect,  also  a  small  minority  of  the  nation,  so  neither  will  it 
be  maintained  to  gratify  the  interest  of  the  clergy.  Public 
institutions  must  have  public  reasons  for  existing  ;  and  if 
at  any  time  there  arise  circumstances  and  dangers  which 
induce  a  return  to  those  reasons,  so  as  to  set  them  in  a 
clear  light  to  oneself  again  and  to  make  sure  of  them,  the 
clergy  may  with  just  as  much  propriety  do  this,  or  assist 
at  its  being  done, — nay,  they  are  as  much  bound  to  do 
it, — as  any  other  members  of  the  community. 

But  some  one  will  perhaps  be  disposed  to  say,  that 
though  there  is  no  impropriety  in  your  hearing  the 
Church  of  England  defended,  yet  there  is  an  impropriety 
in  my  defending  it  to  you.  A  man  who  has  published 
a  good  deal  which  is  at  variance  with  the  body  of  theo- 
logical doctrine  commonly  received  in  the  Church  of 
England  and  commonly  preached  by  its  ministers,  can- 
not well,  it  may  be  thought,  stand  up  before  the  clergy  as 
a  friend  to  their  cause  and  to  that  of  the  Church.     Pro- 


152  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

fessed  ardent  enemies  of  the  Church  have  assured  me 
that  I  am  really,  in  their  opinion,  one  of  the  worst  enemies 
that  the  Church  has, — a  much  worse  enemy  than  them- 
selves. Perhaps  that  opinion  is  shared  by  some  of  those 
who  now  hear  me.  I  make  bold  to  say  that  it  is  totally 
erroneous.  It  is  founded  in  an  entire  misconception  of 
the  character  and  scope  of  what  I  have  written  con- 
cerning religion.  I  regard  the  Church  of  England  as,  in 
fact,  a  great  national  society  for  the  promotion  of  what 
is  commonly  called  goodness^  and  for  promoting  it  through 
the  most  effectual  means  possible,  the  only  means  W'hich 
are  really  and  truly  effectual  for  the  object  :  through  the 
means  of  the  Christian  religion  and  of  the  Bible.  This 
plain  practical  object  is  undeniably  the  object  of  the 
Church  of  England  and  of  the  clergy.  *  Our  province,' 
says  Butler,  whose  sayings  come  the  more  readily  to  my 
mind  because  I  have  been  very  busy  with  him  lately, 
'  our  province  is  virtue  and  religion,  life  and  manners, 
the  science  of  improving  the  temper  and  making  the 
heart  better.  This  is  the  field  assigned  us  to  cultivate ; 
how  much  it  has  lain  neglected  is  indeed  astonishing. 
He  who  should  find  out  one  rule  to  assist  us  in  this 
work  would  deserve  infinitely  better  of  mankind  than  all 
the  improvers  of  other  knowledge  put  together.'  This  is 
indeed  'rue  religion,    true   Christianity.      ////  simt  veri 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.       .       153 

fideles  Tin,  says  the  '  Imitation,'  qui  totani  vitam  suam  ad 
emendatio?iem  disp07iuni.  Undoubtedly  this  is  so  ;  and 
the  more  we  come  to  see  and  feel  it  to  be  so,  the  more 
shall  we  get  a  happy  sense  of  clearness  and  certainty  in 
religion. 

Now,   to  put  a  new  construction  upon  many  things 
that  are  said  in  the  Bible,  to  point  out  errors  in  the  Bible, 
errors  in  the  dealings  of  theologians  with  it,  is  exactly 
the  sort  of  '  other  knowledge '  which  Butler  disparages 
by  comparison  with  a  knowledge  more  important.  Perhaps 
he  goes  too  far  when  he  disparages  it  so  absolutely  as  in 
another  place  he  does,  where  he  makes  Moses  conclude, 
and  appears  to  agree  with    Moses   in  concluding,   that 
'  the  only  k7totvledge,  which  is   of  any  avail  to  us,  is  that 
which  teaches  us  our  duty,  or  assists  us  in  the  discharge 
of  it.'      '  If,'  says  he,   '  the  discoveries  of  men  of  deep 
research  and  curious  inquiry  serve  the  cause  of  virtue 
and  religion,  in  the  way  of  proof,  motive  to  practice,  or 
assistance  in  it ;  or  if  they  tend  to  render  life  less  un- 
happy and  promote  its  satisfactions,  then  they  are  most 
usefully  employed;    but  bringing  things  to  light,  alone 
and  of  itself,  is  of  no  manner  of  use  any  otherwise  than 
as  entertainment  and  diversion.'      'Bringing   things  to 
light '  is  not  properly  to  be  spoken  of,  I  think,  quite  in 
this  fashion.     Still,  with  the  low  comparative  rank  which 


154"  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

Butler  assigns  to  it  we  will  not  quarrel.  And  when  Butler 
urges  that  'knowledge  is  not  our  proper  happiness,'  and 
that  '  men  of  research  and  curious  inquiry  should  just  be 
put  in  mind  not  to  mistake  what  they  are  doing/  we  may 
all  of  us  readily  admit  that  his  admonitions  are  wise  and 
salutary. 

And  therefore  the  object  of  the  Church,  which  is  in 
large  the  promotion  of  goodness,  and  the  business  of  the 
clergy,  which  is  to  teach  men  their  duty  and  to  assist  them 
in  the  discharge  of  it,  do  really  and  truly  interest  me 
more,  and  do  appear  in  my  eyes  as  things  more  valuable 
and  important,  than  the  object  and  business  pursued  in 
those  writings  of  mine  which  are  in  question, — writings 
which  seek  to  put  a  new  construction  on  much  in  the 
Bible,  to  alter  the  current  criticism  of  it,  to  invalidate  the 
conclusions  of  theologians  from  it.  If  the  two  are  to 
conflict,  I  had  rather  that  it  should  be  the  object  and 
business  of  those  writings  which  should  have  to  give  way. 
Most  certainly  the  establishment  of  an  improved  biblical 
criticism,  or  the  demolition  of  the  systems  of  theologians, 
will  never  in  itself  avail  to  teach  men  their  duty  or  to 
assist  them  in  the  discharge  of  it.  Perhaps,  even,  no  one 
can  very  much  give  himself  to  such  objects  without  running 
some  risk  of  over-valuing  their  importance  and  of  being 
diverted  by  them  from  practice. 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  155 


But  there  are  times  when  practice  itself,  when  the  very- 
object  of  the  Church  and  of  the  clergy,— the  promotion 
of  goodness  through  the  instrumentality  of  the  Christian 
religion  and  of  the  Bible, — is  endangered,  with  many  per- 
sons, from  the  predominance  of  the  systems  of  theologians, 
and  from  the  want  of  a  new  and  better  construction  than 
theirs  to  put  upon  the  Bible.  And  ours  is  a  time  of  this 
kind ;  such,  at  least,  is  my  conviction.  Nor  are  persons 
free  to  say  that  we  had  better  all  of  us  stick  to  practice, 
and  resolve  not  to  trouble  ourselves  with  speculative 
questions  of  biblical  and  theological  criticism.  No ;  such 
questions  catch  men  in  a  season  and  manner  which  does 
not  depend  on  their  own  will,  and  often  their  whole  spirit 
is  bewildered  by  them  and  their  former  hold  on  practice 
seems  threatened.  Well  then,  at  this  point  and  for  those 
persons,  the  criticism  which  I  have  attempted  is  designed 
to  come  in ;  when,  for  want  of  some  such  new  criticism, 
their  practical  hold  on  the  Bible  and  on  the  Christian 
religion  seems  to  be  threatened.  The  criticism  is  not 
presented  as  something  universally  salutary  and  indispen- 
sable, far  less  as  any  substitute  for  a  practical  hold  upon 
Christianity  and  the  Bible,  or  of  at  all  comparable  value 
with  it.  The  user  may  even,  if  he  Hkes,  having  in  view 
the  risks  which  beset  practice  from  the  misemployment  of 
such  criticism,  say  while  he  uses  it  that  he  is  but  making 


156  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

himself  friends   through   the   mammon   of  unrighteous- 
ness. 

It  is  evident  that  the  author  of  such  criticism,  holding 
this  to  be  its  relation  to  the  object  of  the  Church  of 
England  and  to  the  business  of  the  clergy,  and  holding 
it  so  cheap  by  comparison  with  that  object  and  that 
business,  is  by  no  means  constituted,  through  the  fact  of 
his  having  published  it,  an  enemy  of  the  Church  and 
clergy,  or  precluded  from  feeling  and  expressing  a  hearty 
desire  for  their  preservation. 

2. 

I  have  called  the  Church  of  England, — to  give  the 

plainest  and  most  direct  idea  I  could  of  its  real  reason 

for  existing, — a  gi'eat  national  society  for  the  promotion  of 

goodness.     Nothing  interests  people,  after  all,  so  much  as 

goodness ;  ^  and  it  is  in  human  nature  that  what  interests 

men  very  much  they  should  not  leave  to  private  and 

chance  handling,  but  should  give  to  it  a  public  institution. 

There  may   be   very   important  things  to  which  public 

institution  is  not  given;  but  it  will  generally  turn  out, 

we   shall  find,  that  they  are  things  of  which  the  whole 

community  does  not  strongly  feel  the  importance.     Art 

'  '  We  have  no  clear  conception  of  any  positive  moral  attribute 
in  the  Supreme  Being,  but  what  may  be  resolved  up  into  goodness.' — 
Butler,  in  Sermon  Upon  the  Loz>e  of  Our  Neighbotir. 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  157 

and  literature  are  very  important  things,  and  art  and 
literature,  it  is  often  urged,  are  not  matters  of  public 
institution  in  England  ;  why,  then,  should  religion  be  ? 
The  answer  is,  that  so  far  as  art  and  literature  are  not 
m.atters  of  public  institution  like  religion,  this  is  because 
the  whole  community  has  not  felt  them  to  be  of  vital 
interest  and  importance  to  it,  as  it  feels  religion  to  be. 
In  only  one  famous  community,  perhaps,  has  the  people 
at  large  felt  art  and  literature  to  be  necessaries  of  life,  as 
with  us  the  people  at  large  has  felt  religion  to  be.  That 
community  was  ancient  Athens.  And  in  ancient  Athens 
art  and  literature  were  matters  of  public  and  national 
institution,  like  religion.  In  the  Christian  nations  of 
modern  Europe  we  find  religion,  alone  of  spiritual  con- 
cerns, to  have  had  a  regular  public  organisation  given  to 
it,  because  alone  of  spiritual  concerns  religion  was  felt 
by  every  one  to  interest  the  nation  profoundly,  just  hke 
social  order  and  security. 

It  is  true,  we  see  a  great  community  across  the 
Atlantic,  the  United  States  of  America,  where  it  cannot 
be  said  that  religion  does  not  interest  people,  and 
where,  notwithstanding,  there  is  no  public  institution 
and  organisation  of  religion.  But  that  is  because  the 
United  States  were  colonised  by  people  who,  from 
special   circumstances,   had    in   this   country   been   led 


158  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

to  adopt  the  theory  and  the  habit,  then  novel,  of  sepa- 
ratism ;  and  who  carried  the  already  formed  theory  and 
habit  into  America,  and  there  gave  effect  to  it.  The 
same  is  to  be  said  of  some  of  our  chief  colonial  depen- 
dencies. Their  communities  are  made  up,  in  a  remark- 
ably large  proportion,  out  of  that  sort  and  class  of  English 
people  in  whom  the  theory  and  habit  of  separatism  exist 
formed,  owing  to  certain  old  religious  conflicts  in  this 
country,  already.  The  theory  and  the  habit  of  separatism 
soon  make  a  common  form  of  religion  seem  a  thing  both 
impossible  and  undesirable  ;  and  without  a  common  form 
of  religion  there  cannot  well  be  a  public  institution  of  it. 
Still,  all  this  does  not  make  the  public  institution  of  a 
thing  so  important  as  religion  to  be  any  the  less  the 
evident  natural  instinct  of  mankind,  their  plain  first  im- 
pulse in  the  matter  ;  neither  does  it  make  that  first 
impulse  to  be  any  the  less  in  itself  a  just  one. 

For  a  just  one  it  is  in  itself,  surely.  All  that  is  said  to 
make  it  out  to  be  so,  said  by  Butler  for  instance, — whom 
I  have  already  quoted,  and  whose  practical  view  of  things 
is  almost  always  so  sound  and  weighty, — seems  to  me  of  an 
evidence  and  solidity  quite  indisputable.  The  public  insti- 
tution of  religion,  he  again  and  again  insists,  is  '  a  standing 
publication  of  the  Gospel,'  '  a  serious  call  upon  men  to 
attend  to  it,'  and  therefore  of  an  '  effect  very  important  and 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  159 

valuable.'     A  visible  Church,  with  a  publicly  instituted 
form  of  religion,  is,  he  says,  '  like  a  city  upon  a  hill, — a 
standing  memorial  to   the  world  of  the  duty  which  we 
owe  our  Maker ;   to  call  men  continually,  both  by  ex- 
ample and  instruction,  to  attend  to  it,  and,  by  the  form 
of  religion  ever  before  their  eyes,  to  remind  them  of  the 
reality  ;  to  be  the  repository  of  the  oracles  of  God ;  to 
hold  up  the  light  of  revelation  in  aid  to  that  of  nature, 
and  to  propagate  it  throughout  all  generations  to  the  end 
of  the  world.'    '  That  which  men  have  accounted  religion,' 
he  says  again,  in  his  charge  to  the  clergy  of  Durham, 
'  has  had,  generally  speaking,  a  great  and  conspicuous 
part  in  all  public  appearances,  and  the  face  of  it  has  been 
kept  up  with  great  reverence  throughout  all  ranks  from 
the  highest  to  the  lowest ;  and  without  somewhat  of  this 
nature,  piety  will  grow  languid  even  among  the  better 
sort  of  men,  and  the  worst  will  go  on  quietly  in  an  aban- 
doned course,  with  fewer  interruptions  from  within  than 
they  would  have,  were  religious  reflexions  forced  oftener 
upon  their  minds,  and,  consequently,  with  less  probability 
of  their  am.endment.'     Here,  I   say,  is  surely  abundant 
reason  suggested,    if  the   thing  were  not  already  clear 
enough  of  itself,  why  a   society   for   the   promotion    of 
goodness,  such  as  the  Church  of  England  in  its  funda- 
mental design  is,  should  at  the  same  time  be  a  national 


i6o  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

society,  a  society  with  a  public  character  and  a  pubUcly 
instituted  form  of  proceeding. 

And  yet  with  what  enemies  and  dangers  is  this  rea- 
sonable and  natural  arrangement  now  encompassed  here  I 
I  open  the  Fortnightly  Review  for  the  beginning  of  the 
present  year/  in  order  to  read  the  political  summary, 
sure  to  be  written  with  ability  and  vigour,  and  to  find 
there  what  lines  of  agitation  are  in  prospect  for  us.  Well, 
I  am  told  in  the  political  summary  that  the  disestablish- 
ment of  the  Church  of  England  is  '  a  question  which  the 
very  Spirit  of  Time  has  borne  on  into  the  first  place.' 
The  Spirit  of  Time  is  a  personage  for  whose  operations  I 
have  myself  the  greatest  respect ;  whatever  he  does,  is, 
in  my  opinion,  of  the  gravest  effect.  And  he  has  borne, 
we  are  told,  the  question  of  the  disestablishment  of  the 
Church  of  England  into  the  very  first  rank  of  questions 
in  agitation.  '  The  agitation,'  continues  the  summarist, 
'  is  the  least  factitious  of  any  pohtical  movement  that  has 
taken  place  in  our  time.  It  is  the  one  subject  on  which 
you  are  most  certain  of  having  a  crowded  meeting  in  any 
large  town  in  England.  It  is  the  one  bond  of  union 
between  the  most  important  groups  of  Liberals.  Even 
the  Tapers  and  Tadpoles  of  politics  must  admit  that  this 
party  is  rapidly  becoming  really  formidable.' 
'  1876. 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  t6i 

Then  our  writer  proceeds  to  enumerate  the  forces  of 
his  party.  It  comprises  practically,  he  says,  the  whole 
body  of  the  Protestant  Noncomformists  ;  this  is,  indeed, 
a  thing  of  course.  But  the  Wesleyans,  too,  he  adds,  are 
almost  certainly  about  to  join  it;  while  of  the  Catholics 
it  is  calculated  that  two-thirds  would  vote  for  '  the  policy 
of  taking  away  artificial  advantages  from  a  rival  hierarchy.' 

'  From  within  the  Church  itself,'  he  goes  on,  '  there  are 
gradually  coming  allies  of  each  of  the  three  colours  :  Sacra- 
mentalists,  weary  of  the  Erastian  bonds  of  Parliament  and 
the  Privy  Council  ;  Evangelicals,  exasperated  by  State 
connivance  with  a  Romanising  reaction  ;  Broad  Churchmen, 
who  are  beginning  to  see,  first,  that  a  laity  in  a  Free  Church 
would  hold  the  keys  of  the  treasury,  and  would  therefore  be 
better  able  than  they  are  now  to  secure  liberality  of  doctrine 
in  their  clergy  ;  and,  secondly,  are  beginning  to  see  that  the 
straining  to  make  the  old  bottles  of  rite  and  formulary  hold 
the  wine  of  new  thought  withers  up  intellectual  manliness, 
straightforwardness,  and  vigorous  health  of  conscience,  both 
in  those  who  practise  these  economies  and  in  those  whom 
their  moderation  fascinates. 

The  thing  could  not  well  be  more  forcibly  stated,  and 
the  prospect  for  the  Established  Church  does  indeed,  as 
thus  presented,  seem  black  enough.  But  we  have  still  to 
hear  of  the  disposition  of  the  great  body  of  the  flock,  of 
the  working  multitudes.  '  As  for  the  working  classes,' 
the  wTiter  says,  *  the  religious  portion  would  follow  the 

M 


i62  777^   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

policy  of  the  sect  to  which  the  individual  happened  to 
belong ;  while  that  portion  which  is  not  attached  either 
to  church  or  chapel,  apart  from  personal  or  local  consi- 
derations of  accidental  force,  would  certainly  go  for  dis- 
establishment. Not  a  single  leader  of  the  industrial  class, 
with  any  pretence  to  a  representative  character,  but  is 
already  strongly  and  distinctly  pledged.'  And  the  con- 
clusion is,  that  *  the  cause  of  disestablishment,  so  far  from 
being  the  forlorn  crusade  of  a  handful  of  fanatics,  is  in 
fact  a  cause  to  which  a  greater  number  of  Radicals  of  all 
kinds  may  be  expected  to  rally  than  to  any  other  cause 
whatever.'  And  therefore  this  cause  should  be  made  by 
all  Liberals,  the  writer  argues,  the  real  object,  and  other 
things  should  be  treated  as  secondary  and  contributory  to 
it.  '  Let  us  reform  our  electoral  machinery,'  says  he,  '  by 
all  means,  but  let  us  understand,  and  make  others  under- 
stand, that  we  only  seek  this  because  we  seek  something 
else  :  the  disestablishment  of  the  Episcopal  Church  in 
England.'  Such  is  the  programme  of  what  calls  itself 
'  scientific  liberalism.' 

By  far  the  most  formidable  force  in  the  array  of 
dangers  which  this  critic  has  mustered  to  threaten  the 
Church  of  England,  is  the  estrangement  of  the  working 
classes, — of  that  part  of  them,  too,  which  has  no  attach- 
ment to  Dissent,  but  which  is  simply  zealous  about  social 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  163 

and  political  questions.  This  part  may  not  be  over- 
whelming in  numbers,  but  it  is  the  living  and  leading 
part  of  the  whole  to  which  it  belongs.  Its  sentiment  tends 
to  become,  with  time,  the  sentiment  of  the  whole.  If  its 
sentiment  is  unalterably  hostile  to  the  Church  of  England, 
if  the  character  of  the  Church  is  such  that  this  must 
needs  be  so  and  remain  so,  then  the  question  of  dises- 
tablishment is,  I  think,  settled.  The  Church  of  England 
cannot,  in  the  long  run,  stand. 

The  ideal  of  the  working  classes  is  a  future, — a  future 
on  earth,  not  up  in  the  sky,— which  shall  profoundly 
change  and  ameliorate  things  for  them  ;  an  immense 
social  progress,  nay,  a  social  transformation  ;  in  short,  as 
their  song  goes,  '  a  good  time  coming.'  And  the  Church 
is  supposed  to  be  an  appendage  to  the  Barbarians,  as  I 
have  somewhere,  in  joke,  called  it ;  an  institution 
devoted  above  all  to  the  landed  gentry,  but  also  to 
the  propertied  and  satisfied  classes  generally ;  favouring 
immobility,  preaching  submission,  and  reserving  trans- 
formation in  general  for  the  other  side  of  the  grave. 

Such  a  Church,  I  admit,  cannot  possibly  nowadays 
attach  the  working  classes,  or  be  viewed  with  anything 
but  disfavour  by  them.  But  certainly  the  superstitious 
worship  of  existing  social  facts,  a  devoted  obsequious- 
ness to  the  landed  and  propertied  and  satisfied  classes, 


i64  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

does  not  inhere  in  the  Christian  rehgion.  The  Church 
does  not  get  it  from  the  Bible.  Exception  is  taken  to  its 
being  said  that  there  is  communism  in  the  Bible,  because 
we  see  that  communists  are  fierce,  violent,  insurrec- 
tionary people,  with  temper  and  actions  abhorrent  to  the 
spirit  of  the  Bible.  But  if  we  say,  on  the  one  hand,  that 
the  Bible  utterly  condemns  all  violence,  revolt,  fierceness, 
and  self-assertion,  then  we  may  safely  say,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  there  is  certainly  communism  in  the  Bible. 
The  truth  is,  the  Bible  enjoins  endless  self-sacrifice  all 
round  ;  and  to  any  one  who  has  grasped  this  idea,  the 
superstitious  worship  of  property,  the  reverent  devoted- 
ness  to  the  propertied  and  satisfied  classes,  is  impossible. 
And  the  Christian  Church  has,  I  boldly  say,  been  the 
fruitful  parent  of  men  who,  having  grasped  this  idea,  have 
been  exempt  from  this  superstition.  Institutions  are  to 
be  judged  by  their  great  men  ;  in  the  end,  they  take  their 
line  from  their  great  men.  The  Christian  Church,  and 
the  line  which  is  natural  to  it  and  which  will  one  day 
prevail  in  it,  is  to  be  judged  from  the  saints  and  the  tone 
of  the  saints.  Now  really,  if  there  have  been  any  people 
in  the  world  free  from  illusions  about  the  divine  origin 
and  divine  sanctions  of  social  facts  just  as  they  stand, — 
open,  therefore,  to  the  popular  hopes  of  a  profound  reno- 
vation and  a  happier  future, — it  has  been  those  inspired 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  16^ 

idiots,  the  poets  and  the  saints.  Nobody  nowadays 
attends  much  to  what  the  poets  say,  so  I  leave  them  on 
one  side.  But  Hsten  to  a  saint  on  the  origin  of  property  ; 
hsten  to  Pascal.  '  "  This  dog  belongs  to  ;;/^,"  said  these 
poor  children;  "that  place  in  the  sun  is  mi7ie !'' 
Behold  the  beginning  and  the  image  of  all  usurpation 
upon  earth  ! '  Listen  to  him  instructmg  the  young  Duke 
of  Roannez  as  to  the  source  and  sacredness  of  his  rank 
and  his  estates.     First,  as  to  his  estates  : — 

'  Do  you  imagine,'  he  says,  '  that  it  is  by  some  way  of 
nature  that  your  property  has  passed  from  your  ancestors  to 
you  t  Such  is  not  the  case.  This  order  is  but  founded  on 
the  simple  will  and  pleasure  of  legislators,  who  may  have 
had  good  reasons  for  what  they  did,  but  not  one  of  their 
reasons  was  taken  from  any  natural  right  of  yours  over  these 
possessions.  If  they  had  chosen  to  ordain  that  this  property, 
after  having  been  held  by  your  father  during  his  lifetime, 
should  revert  to  the  commonwealth  after  his  death,  you 
would  have  had  no  ground  for  complaint.  Thus  your  whole 
title  to  your  property  is  not  a  title  from  nature,  but  a  title 
of  human  creation.  A  different  turn  of  imagination  in  the 
law-makers  would  have  left  you  poor  ;  and  it  is  only  that 
combination  of  the  chance  which  produced  your  birth  with 
the  turn  of  fancy  producing  laws  advantageous  to  you,  which 
makes  you  the  master  of  all  these  possessions.' 

And  then,  the  property  having  been  dealt  with,  comes 
the  turn  of  the  rank  : — 

There  are  two  sorts  of  grandeurs  in  the  world  ;  grandeurs 


i66  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

Avhich  men  have  set  up,  and  natural  grandeurs.  The  gran- 
deurs which  men  have  set  up  depend  on  the  will  and  pleasure 
of  men.  Dignities  and  nobility  are  grandeurs  of  this  kind. 
In  one  country  they  honour  nobles,  in  another  commoners  ; 
here  the  eldest  son,  there  the  youngest  son.  Why  ?  because 
such  has  been  men's  will  and  pleasure. 

There,  certainly,  speaks  a  great  voice  of  religion 
without  any  superstitious  awe  of  rank  and  of  property  ! 
The  treasures  of  Pascal's  scorn  are  boundless,  and  they 
are  magnificent.  They  are  poured  out  in  full  flood  on  the 
superstitious  awe  in  question.  The  only  doubt  may  be, 
perhaps,  whether  they  are  not  poured  out  on  it  too 
cruelly,  too  overwhelmingly.  But  in  what  secular  writer 
shall  we  find  anything  to  match  them  ? 

Ay,  or  in  what  saint  or  doctor,  some  one  will  say,  of 
the  Church  of  England?  If  there  is  a  stronghold  of 
stolid  deference  to  the  illusions  of  the  aristocratic  and 
propertied  classes,  the  Church  of  England,  many  people 
will  maintain,  is  that  stronghold.  It  is  the  most  for- 
midable complaint  against  the  Church,  the  complaint 
which  creates  its  most  serious  danger.  There  is  nothing 
like  having  the  very  words  of  the  complainants  themselves 
in  a  case  of  this  sort.  '  I  wish,'  says  Mr.  Goldwin 
Smith,  '  I  wish  the  clergy  would  consider  whether  some- 
thing of  the  decline  of  Christianity  may  not  be  due  to  the 
fact  that  for  ages  Christianity  has  been  accepted  by  the 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  167 

clergy  of  the  Established  Church  as  the  ally  of  political 
and  social  injustice.'  'The  Church  of  England/  says 
Mr.  John  Morley,  '  is  the  ally  of  tyranny,  the  organ  of 
social  oppression,  the  champion  of  intellectual  bondage.' 
There  are  the  leaders  ! — and  the  Beehive  shall  give  us  the 
opinion  of  the  rank  and  file.  '  The  clergy  could  not 
take  money  from  the  employing  classes  and  put  it  into 
the  pockets  of  the  employed ;  but  they  might  have 
insisted  on  such  a  humane  consideration  and  Christian  re- 
gard for  human  welfare,  as  would  have  so  influenced  men's 
dealings  in  regard  to  each  other  as  to  prevent  our  present 
misery  and  suffering.' 

You  will  observe,  by  the  way,  and  it  is  a  touching  thing 
to  witness,  that  the  complaint  of  the  real  sufferers,  as  they 
think  themselves,  is  in  a  strain  comparatively  calm  and 
mild ;  how  much  milder  than  the  invective  of  their 
•literary  leaders  !  Still,  the  upshot  of  the  complaint  is  the 
same  with  both.  The  Church  shares  and  serves  the  pre- 
judices of  rank  and  property,  instead  of  contending  with 
them. 

Now,  I  say  once  more  that  every  Church  is  to  be 
judged  by  its  great  men.  Theirs  are  the  authoritative 
utterances.  They  survive.  They  lay  hold,  sooner  or  later, 
and  in  proportion  to  their  impressiveness  and  truth, 
on  the  minds  of  Churchmen  to  whom  they  come  down. 


i68  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

They  strike  the  note  to  be  finally  taken  in  the  Church. 
Listen,  then,  to  this  on  '  the  seemingly  enormous  dis- 
crimination,' as  the  speaker  calls  it,  '  among  men  : ' — 

That  distinction  which  thou  standest  upon,  and  which 
seemeth  so  vast,  between  thy  poor  neighbour  and  thee,  what 
is  it  ?  whence  did  it  come  ?  whither  tends  it  ?  It  is  not  any- 
wise natural,  or  according  to  primitive  design.  Inequality 
and  private  interest  in  things  (together  with  sicknesses  and 
pains,  together  with  all  other  infelicities  and  inconveniences) 
were  the  by-blows  of  our  guilt  ;  sin  introduced  these  degrees 
and  distances  ;  it  devised  the  names  of  rich  and  poor  ;  it 
begot  those  ingrossing  and  inclosures  of  things  ;  it  forged 
those  two  small  pestilent  words,  meii^m  and  tiiiim,  which  have 
engendered  so  much  strife  among  men,  and  created  so  much 
mischief  in  the  world  ;  these  preternatural  distinctions  were, 
I  say,  brooded  by  our  fault,  and  are  in  great  part  fostered 
and  maintained  thereby  ;  for  were  we  generally  so  good,  so 
just,  so  charitable  as  we  should  be,  they  could  hardly  subsist, 
especially  in  that  measure  they  do.  God,  indeed  (for  pro- 
moting some  good  ends  and  for  prevention  of  some  mis- 
chiefs apt  to  spring  from  our  ill-nature  in  this  our  lapsed 
state,  particularly  to  prevent  the  strife  and  disorder  which 
scrambling  would  cause  among  men,  presuming  on  equal 
right  and  parity  of  force),  doth  suffer  them  in  some  manner 
to  continue  ;  but  we  mistake  if  we  think  that  natural  equality 
and  community  are  in  effect  quite  taken  away ;  or  that  all 
the  world  is  so  cantonised  among  a  few  that  the  rest  have 
no  share  therein. 

Who  is  it  who  says  that  ?  It  is  one  of  the  eminently 
representative  men  of  the  English  Church,  its  best  and 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  169 

soundest  moralist ;  a  man  sober-minded,  weighty, 
esteemed  ; — it  is  Barrow.  And  it  is  Barrow  in  the  full 
blaze  of  the  Restoration,  in  his  Hospital  Sermon  of  1671. 
Well,  then,  a  fascinated  awe  of  class-privileges, 
station,  and  property,  a  belief  in  the  divine  appointment, 
perfectness,  and  perpetuity  of  existing  social  arrange- 
ments, is  not  the  authentic  tradition  of  the  Church  of 
England.  It  is  important  to  insist  upon  this,  important 
for  the  Church  to  feel  and  avow  it,  because  no  institution 
with  these  prejudices  could  possibly  carry  the  working 
classes  with  it.  And  it  is  necessary  for  the  Church,  if  it  is 
to  live,  that  it  should  carry  the  working  classes  with  it. 
Suffer  me,  after  quoting  to  you  Jeremy  Taylor  and  Butler 
and  Pascal  and  Barrow,  to  quote  to  you  a  much  less 
orthodox  personage  :  M.  Renan.  But  what  I  am  going 
to  quote  from  him  is  profoundly  true.  He  has  been 
observing  that  Christianity,  at  its  outset,  had  an  immense 
attraction  for  the  popular  classes,  as  he  cahs  them  ;  '  the 
popular  classes  whom  the  State  and  religion  neglected 
equally.'  And  he  proceeds  :  '  Here  is  the  great  lesson 
of  this  history  for  our  own  age  ;  the  times  correspond  to 
one  another;  the  future  will  belong  to  that  party  which 
can  get  hold  of  the  popular  classes  and  elevate  them.' 
*  But  in  our  days,'  M.  Renan  adds,  '  the  difficulty  is  far 
greater  than  it  ever  was.'     And  this  is  true  ;  the  difficulty 


I70  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

is  great,  very  great.     But  the  thing  has  to  be  done,  and 
the  Church  is  the  right  power  to  do  it. 

Now,   the  Church  tends,  people  say,  at  present   to 
become  more  mixed  and  popular  than  it  used  to  be  in 
the  composition  of  its  clergy.     They  are  recruited  from  a 
wider  field.     Sometimes  one  hears  this  lamented,  and  its 
disadvantages  insisted  upon.     But,  in  view  of  a  power  of 
comprehending   popular   ideals    and   sympathising   with 
them,  it  has,  I   think,  its  advantage.     No  one  can  over- 
look or  deny  the  immense  labours  and  sacrifices  of  the 
clergy   for   the   improvement    of  the   condition    of  the 
popular,    the    working   classes  ; — for   their   schools,   for 
instance,  and  for  their  physical  well-being  in  countless 
ways.     But  this  is  not  enough  without  a  positive  sym- 
pathy with  popular  ideals.    And  the  great  popular  ideal  is, 
as  I  have   said,  an  immense  renovation  and  transforma- 
tion of  things,  a  far  better  and  happier  society  in  the 
future  than  ours  is  now.     Mixed  with  ail  manner  of  alloy 
and  false  notions  this  ideal  often  is,  yet  in  itself  it  is 
precious,  it  is  true.     And  let  me  observe,  it  is  also  the 
ideal  of  our  religion.     It  is  the  business  of  our  religion  to 
make  us  believe  in  this  very  ideal ;  it  is  the  business  of 
the  clergy  to  profess  and  to  preach  it.     In  this  view  it  is 
really  well  to  consider,  how  entirely  our  religious  teach- 
ing and  preaching,  and  our  creeds,  and  what  passes  with 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  ij'-^ 


us  for  •'  the  gospel/  turn  on  quite  other  matters  from  the 
fundamental  matter  of  the  primitive  gospel,  or  good  news, 
of  our  Saviour  himself.  This  gospel  was  the  ideal  of 
popular  hope  and  longing,  an  immense  renovation  and 
transformation  of  things  :  the  kingdom  of  God.  '  Jesus 
came  into  Galilee  proclaiming  the  good  news  of  God  and 
saying  :  The  time  is  fulfilled  and  the  kingdom  of  God  is 
at  hand  ;  repent  and  believe  the  good  news.'  Jesus 
went  about  the  cities  and  villages  '  proclaiming  the  good 
news  of  the  kingdom.'  The  multitudes  followed  him, 
and  he  'took  them  and  talked  to  them  about  the 
kingdom  of  God.'  He  told  his  disciples  to  preach  this. 
'  Go  thou,  and  spread  the  news  of  the  kingdom  of  God.' 
'  Into  whatever  city  ye  enter,  say  to  them  :  The  kingdom 
of  God  has  come  nigh  unto  you.'  He  told  his  disciples  to 
pray  for  it, — to  pray : '  Thy  kingdom  come ! '  He  told  them 
to  seek  and  study  it  before  all  things.  '  Seek  first  God's 
righteousness  and  kingdom.'  He  said  that  the  news  of  it 
should  be  published  throughout  the  world.  '  This  good 
news  of  the  kingdom  shall  be  proclaimed  in  the  whole 
world,  for  a  witness  to  all  nations.'  And  it  was  a  kingdom 
here  on  earth,  not  in  some  other  world  unseen.  It  was 
'  God's  will  done,  as  in  heaven,  so  on  earth.' 

And  in  this  line  the  preaching  went  on  for  some  time 
after  our  Saviour's  death.     Philip,  in  Samaria,  '  delivers 


172  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

the  good  news  concerning  the  kingdom  of  God.'  Paul, 
at  Ephesus,  '  discusses  and  persuades  concerning  the 
kingdom  of  God.'  At  Rome,  he  '  testifies  to  the  kingdom 
of  God,'  '  proclaims  the  kingdom  of  God.'  He  tells  the 
Corinthians  that  Christ  sent  him  'not  to  baptise  but  to 
deliver  the  good  news,' — the  good  news  of  the  kingdom 
of  God.  True,  additions  soon  appear  to  the  original 
gospel,  which  explain  how  preaching  came  to  diverge 
from  it.  The  additions  were  inevitable.  The  kingdom  of 
God  was  realisable  only  through  Jesus,— was  impossible 
without  Jesus.  And  therefore  the  preaching  concerning 
Jesus  had  necessarily  to  be  added  to  the  preaching 
concerning  the  kingdom.  Accordingly,  we  find  Philip 
'"  delivering  the  good  news  concerning  the  kingdom  of 
God,  and  the  7iame  of  Jesus  Christ.^  We  find  him  'deli- 
vering (to  the  eunuch)  the  good  news  oi  JestisJ  We  find 
Paul  '  proclaiming  Jesus,  that  he  is  the  Son  of  God^ 
'  proving  tJiat  he  is  the  Christ^  putting,  as  the  foremost 
matter  of  the  '  good  news,'  Christ's  death  and  resurrection. 
'The  kingdom'  w^asto  be  won  through  faith  in  Christ; 
in  Christ  crucified  and  risen,  and  crucified  and  risen,  I 
freely  admit,  in  the  plain  material  sense  of  those  words. 
And,  moreover,  '  the  kingdom '  was  conceived  by  the 
apostles  as  the  triumphant  return  of  Christ,  in  the  life- 
time of  the   very  generation  then  living,    to  judge  the 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  '  173 

world  and  to  reign  in  glory  with  his  saints.  The  disciples 
conceived  '  the  kingdom,'  therefore,  amiss  ;  it  was  hardly 
possible  for  them  not  to  do  so.  But  we  can  readily 
understand  how  thus,  as  time  went  on.  Christian  preach- 
mg  came  more  and  more  to  drop,  or  to  leave  in  the 
background,  its  one  primitive  gospel,  the  good  neios  of 
the  kingdom^  and  to  settle  on  other  points.  Yet  whoever 
reverts  to  it,  reverts,  I  say,  to  the  primitive  gospel ;  which 
is  the  good  news  of  an  immense  renovation  and  trans- 
formation of  this  world,  by  the  establishment  of  what  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount  calls  (in  the  most  authentic  read- 
ing of  the  passage)  'God's  righteousness, and  kingdom.' 
This  was  the  ideal  of  Jesus  :— the  estabhshment  on  earth 
of  God's  kingdom,  of  felicity,  not  by  the  violent  pro- 
cesses of  our  Fifth  Monarchy  men,  or  of  the  German 
Anabaptists,  or  of  the  French  Communists,  but  by 
the  establishment  on  earth  of  God's  righteousness. 

But  it  is  a  contracted  and  insufficient  conception  of 
the  gospel  which  takes  into  view  only  the  establishment 
of  righteousjiess,  and  does  not  also  take  into  view  the 
establishment  of  the  kingdom.  And  the  establishment 
of  the  kingdom  does  imply  an  immense  renovation  and 
transformation  of  our  actual  state  of  things; — that  is 
certain.  This  then,  which  is  the  ideal  of  the  popular 
classes,  of  the  multitude  everywhere,  is  a  legitimate  ideal. 


174  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

And  a  Church  of  England,  devoted  to  the  service  and 
ideals  of  any  limited  class, — however  distinguished, 
wealthy,  or  powerful, — which  is  perfectly  satisfied  with 
things  as  they  are,  is  not  only  out  of  sympathy  with  the' 
ideal  of  the  popular  classes ;  it  is  also  out  of  sympathy 
with  the  gospel,  of  which  the  ideal  does,  in  the  main, 
coincide  with  theirs.  True,  the  most  clear  voice  one 
could  even  desire  in  favour  of  such  an  ideal  is  found  to 
come,  as  we  have  seen,  from  the  Church  of  England, 
from  a  representative  man  among  the  clergy  of  that 
Church.  But  it  is  important  that  the  clergy,  as  a  body, 
should  sympathise  heartily  with  that  ideal.  And  this 
they  can  best  bring  themselves  to  do,  any  of  them  who 
may  require  such  bringing,  by  accustoming  themselves 
to  see  that  the  ideal  is  the  true  original  ideal  of  their 
religion  and  of  its  Founder. 

I  have  dwelt  a  long  while  upon  this  head,  because  of 
its  extreme  importance.  If  the  Church  of  England  is 
right  here,  it  has,  I  am  persuaded,  nothing  to  fear  either 
from  Rome,  or  from  the  Protestant  Dissenters,  or  from 
the  secularists.  It  cannot,  I  think,  stand  secure  unless 
it  has  the  sympathy  of  the  popular  classes.  And  it  cannot 
have  the  sympathy  of  the  popular  classes  unless  it  is  right 
on  this  head.  But,  if  it  is  right  on  this  head,  it  may,  I  feel 
convinced,  flourish  and  be  strong  with  their  sympathy, 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  r/s 

and  with  that  of  the  nation  in  general.  For  it  has  natural 
allies  in  what  Burke,  that  gifted  Irishman,  so  finely  calls 
'  the  ancient  and  inbred  integrity,  piety,  good  nature,  and 
good  humour  of  the  English  people.'  It  has  an  ally  in  the 
English  people's  piety.  If  the  matter  were  not  so  serious, 
one  could  hardly  help  smiling  at  the  chagrin  and  mani- 
fest perplexity  of  such  of  one's  friends  as  happen  to 
be  philosophical  radicals  and  secularists,  at  having  to 
reckon  with  religion  again  when  they  thought  its  day  was 
quite  gone  by,  and  that  they  need  not  study  it  any  more 
or  take  account  of  it  any  more,  but  it  was  passing  out, 
and  a  kind  of  new  gospel,  half  Bentham  half  Cobden, 
in  which  they  were  themselves  particularly  strong,  was 
coming  in.  And  perhaps  there  is  no  one  who  more 
deserves  to  be  compassionated,  than  an  elderly  or  middle- 
aged  man  of  this  kind,  such  as  several  of  their  Par- 
liamentary spokesmen  and  representatives  are.  For 
perhaps  the  younger  men  of  the  party  may  take  heart  of 
grace,  and  acquaint  themselves  a  little  with  religion,  now 
that  they  see  its  day  is  by  no  means  over.  But,  for  the 
older  ones,  their  mental  habits  are  formed,  and  it  is 
almost  too  late  for  them  to  begin  such  new  studies. 
However,  a  wave  of  religious  reaction  is  evidently 
passing  over  Europe ;  due  very  much  to  our  revolutionary 
and  philosophical  friends  having  insisted  upon  it  that 


176  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

religion  was  gone  by  and  unnecessary,  when  it  was 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other.  And  what  one  sees  in 
France,  and  elsewhere,  really  makes  some  words  of 
Butler  (if  you  are  not  yet  tired  of  Butler)  read  like  a 
prophecy  : — 

'  Indeed/  he  says,  '  amongst  creatures  naturally  formed 
for  religion,  yet  so  much  under  the  power  of  imagination,  so 
apt  to  deceive  themselves,  as  men  are,  superstition  is  an 
evil  which  can  never  be  out  of  sight.  But  even  against  this, 
true  religion  is  a  great  security  ;  and  the  only  one.  True 
religion  takes  up  that  place  in  the  mind  which  superstition 
would  usurp,  and  so  leaves  little  room  for  it ;  and  likewise 
lays  us  under  the  strongest  obligations  to  oppose  it.  On  the 
contrary,  the  danger  of  superstition  cannot  but  be  increased 
by  the  prevalence  of  irreligion  ;  and  by  its  general  prevalence 
the  evil  will  be  unavoidable.  For  the  common  people, 
wanting  a  religion,  will  of  course  take  up  with  almost  any 
superstition  which  is  thrown  in  their  way  ;  and  in  process  of 
time,  amidst  the  injfinite  vicissitudes  of  the  political  world, 
the  leaders  of  parties  will  certainly  be  able  to  serve  them- 
selves of  that  superstition,  whatever  it  be,  which  is  getting 
ground  ;  and  will  not  fail  to  carry  it  on  to  the  utmost  lengths 
their  occasions  require.' 

And  does  not  one  see  at  the  present  day,  in  the  very  places 
where  irreligion  had  prevailed  most,  superstition  laying 
hold  of  those  who  seemed  the  last  people  likely  to  be 
laid  hold  of  by  it,  and  politicians  making  their  game  out 
of  this  state  of  things  ?     Yet  that  there  should  spring  up 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  177 

in  Paris,  for  instance,  a  Catholic  Working  Men's  Union, 
and  that  it  should  prosper,  will  surprise  no  one  who 
considers  how  strong  is  the  need  in  human  nature  for 
a  moral  rule  and  bridle,  such  as  religion,  even  a  super- 
stitious one,  affords ;  and  how  entirely  the  Paris  workman 
was  without  anything  of  the  kind.  La  Rochefoucauld, 
who  is  here  a  witness  whom  no  one  will  challenge,  says 
most  truly  :  '  It  is  harder  to  keep  oneself  from  being 
governed  than  to  govern  others.'  Obedience,  strange  as 
it  may  sound,  is  a  real  need  of  human  nature; — above  all, 
moral  and  religious  obedience.  And  it  is  less  hard  to  a 
Paris  workman  to  swallow  beliefs  which  one  would  have 
thought  impossible  for  him,  than  to  go  on  in  life  and 
conduct  in  unchartered  freedom,  like  a  wave  of  the  sea, 
driven  with  the  wand  and  tossed.  Undoubtedly,  then,  there 
are  in  the  popular  classes  of  every  country  forces  of  piety 
and  religion  capable  of  being  brought  into  an  alliance  with 
the  Church,  the  national  society  for  the  promotion  of 
goodness,  in  that  country.  And  of  no  people  may  this 
be  more  certainly  said  than  of  ours. 

Still,  there  is  in  this  English  people  an  integrity.,  as 
Burke  calls  it, — a  native  fund  of  downrightness,  plain 
honesty,  integrity, — which  makes  our  popular  classes  very 
unapt  to  cheat  themselves  in  religion,  and  to  swallow 
things  down  wholesale  out  of  sentiment,  or  even  out  of 

N 


178  THE    CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

weariness  of  moral  disorder  and  from  need  of  a  moral  rule. 
And  therefore  I  said  that  Rome  was  not  a  real  danger 
for  us,  and  that  in  the  integrity  of  the  English  people  the 
Church  of  England  had  a  natural  ally.  I  say  this  in 
view  of  the  popular  classes.  Higher  up,  with  individuals, 
and  even  with  small  classes,  sentiment  and  fantasy,  and 
morbid  restlessness  and  weariness,  may  come  in.  But 
with  the  popular  classes  and  with  the  English  people  as  a 
whole,  it  is  in  favour  of  the  Church  that  it  is  what 
Butler  called  it,  and  what  it  is  sometimes  reproached  for 
being :  a  reasonable  Establishment.  And  it  is  a  reason- 
able Establishment,  and  in  the  good  sense.  I  know  of 
no  other  Establishment  so  reasonable.  Churches  are 
characterised,  I  have  said,  by  their  great  men.  Show  me 
any  other  great  Church  of  which  a  chief  doctor  and 
luminary  has .  a  sentence  like  this  sentence,  splendide 
verax,  of  Butler's  :  '  Things  are  what  they  are,  and  the 
consequences  of  them  will  be  what  they  will  be  ;  why, 
then,  should  we  desire  to  be  deceived  ?  '  To  take  in  and 
to  digest  such  a  sentence  as  that,  is  an  education  in  moral 
and  intellectual  veracity.  And  after  all,  intensely  Buderian 
as  the  sentence  is,  yet  Butler  came  to  it  because  he  is 
English  ;  because  at  the  bottom  of  his  nature  lay  such  a 
fund  of  integrity. 

Show  me  another  great  Church,  again,  in  which  a 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  179 

theologian,  arguing  that  a  religious  doctrine  of  the  truth 
of  which  a  man  is  not  sure, — the  doctrine,  let  us  sup- 
pose, of  a  future  state  of  rewards  and  punishments, — 
may  yet  properly  be  made  to  sway  his  conduct  and 
practice  (a  recommendation  which  seems  to  me,  I 
must  confess,  impossible  to  be  carried  into  effect) ;  but 
show  me  in  another  Church  a  theologian  arguing  thus, 
yet  careful  at  the  same  time  to  warn  us,  that  we  have  no 
business  to  tamper  with  our  sense  of  evidence,  by 
believing  the  doctrine  any  the  more  on  the  ground  of  its 
practical  importance  to  us.  For  this  is  what  Butler  says : 
*  To  be  influenced,'  he  says,  '  by  this  consideration  in 
OMX  judgment^  to  believe  or  disbeHeve  upon  it,  is  indeed 
as  much  prejudice  as  anything  whatever.'  The  force  of 
integrity,  I  say,  can  no  farther  go. 

And,  distracted  as  is  the  state  of  religious  opinion 
amongst  us  at  this  moment,  in  no  other  great  Church  is 
there,  I  believe,  so  much  sincere  desire  as  there  is  in  the 
Church  of  England, — in  clergy  as  well  as  in  laity, — to  get 
at  the  real  truth.  In  no  other  great  Church  is  there 
so  little  false  pretence  of  assured  knowledge  and 
certainty  on  points  where  there  can  be  none  ;  so 
much  disposition  to  see  and  to  admit  with  Butler,  in 
regard  to  such  points  and  to  the  root  of  the  whole 
matter   in  religion,  that  'mankind  are   for  placing  the 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 


stress  of  their  religion  anywhere  rather  than  upon 
virtue,'  and  that  mankind  are  wrong  in  so  doing.  To 
this  absence  of  charlatanism,  to  this  largeness  of  view, 
to  this  pressing  to  the  genuine  root  of  the  matter,  all  the 
constituents  assigned  to  the  English  people's  nature  by 
Burke, — our  people's  piety,  their  integrity,  their  good 
nature,  their  good  humour,  but  above  all,  their  integrity, — 
contribute  to  incline  them.  That  the  Church  should  show 
a  like  inclination,  is  in  its  favour  as  a  National  Church. 

Equally  are  these  constituents  of  the  English  cha- 
racter, and  the  way  of  thinking  which  naturally  springs 
from  them,  in  favour  of  the  Church  as  regards  the  attacks 
of  the  political  Dissenters.  Plain  directness  of  thinking, 
a  largeness  and  good-naturedness  of  mind,  are  not  favour- 
able judges,  I  think,  for  the  Dissenters  at  the  present 
moment, — for  their  grievances  and  for  their  operations.  A 
sense  of  piety  and  reHgion  in  the  nation  is  to  be  supposed 
to  start  with.  And  I  suppose  it  to  be  clear  that  the 
contention  no  longer  is,  even  on  the  part  of  the  Dissenters 
themselves,  that  a  certain  Church- order  is  alone  scrip- 
tural and  is  therefore  necessary,  and  that  it  is  that  of 
the  Dissenters,  not  of  the  Church  ;  or  that  the  Gospel 
consists  in  one  or  two  famous  propositions  of  speculative 
doctrine,  and  that  .the  Dissenters  make  it  so  to  consist, 
while  the  Church  does  not.     At  any  rate,  the  nation  in 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 


general  will  no  longer  regard  this  contention  as  serious, 
even  if  some  Dissenters  do.  The  serious  contention  is, 
that  there  ought  to  be  perfect  religious  equality,  as  it  is 
called  ;  and  that  the  State  ought  not  to  adopt,  and  by 
adopting  to  favour  and  elevate  above  the  rest,  one  form 
of  religion  out  of  the  many  forms  that  are  current. 

But  surely,  the  moment  we  consider  religion  and 
Christianity  in  a  large  way  as  goodness,  and  a  Church 
as  a  society  for  the  promotion  of  goodness,  all  that  is 
said  about  having  such  a  society  before  men's  eyes  as  a 
city  set  upon  a  hill,  all  that  is  said  about  making  the 
Gospel  more  and  more  a  witness  to  mankind,  applies  m 
favour  of  the  State  adopting  some  form  of  religion  or  other, 

— that  which  seems  best  suited  to  the  majority, even 

though  it  may  not  be  perfect ;  and  putting  that  forward 
as  the  national  form  of  religion.  ^A  reasonable  es- 
tabhshment  has,'  surely,  as  Buder  says,  ^a  tendency  to 
keep  up  a  sense  of  real  religion  and  real  Christianity  in 
a  nation.'  That  seems  to  me  to  be  no  more  than  the 
plain  language  of  common  sense.  And  I  think  what 
follows  is  true  also  :— 'And  it  is  moreover  necessary  for 
the  encouragement  of  learning,  some  parts  of  which  the 
Scripture-revelation  absolutely  requires  should  be  cul- 
tivated.' 

But   what   seems   to   me  quite   certain    is,    that,    it 


1 82  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

goodness  is  the  end,  and  '  all  good  men  are,'  as  Butler 
says,  '  equally  concerned  in  promoting  that  end,'  then,  as 
he  goes  on  to  conclude,  '  to  do  it  more  effectually  they 
ought  to    unite   in   promoting   it ;  which   yet  is    scarce 
practicable  upon  any  new  models,  and  quite  impossible 
upon  such  as  every  one  would  think  unexceptionable.' 
And  as  for  such,  he  says,  as  '  think  ours  liable  to  ob- 
jection, it  is  possible  they  themselves  may  be  mistaken, 
and  whether  they  are  or  no,  the  very  nature  of  society 
requires  some  compliance  with  others.     Upon  the  whole, 
therefore,  these  persons  would  do  well  to  consider  how 
far  they  can  with  reason  satisfy  themselves  in  neglecting 
what  is  certainly  right  on  account  of  what  is  doubtful 
whether  it  be  wrong  ;  and  when  the  right  is  of  so  much 
greater  consequence  one  way  than  the  supposed  wrong 
can  be  the  other.'      Here  Butler  seems  to  me  to  be  on 
impregnable   ground,   and   it   is   the  ground  which  the 
largest  and  surest  spirits  amongst  us  have  always  pitched 
upon.     Sir  Matthew  Hale,  the  most  moderate   of  men 
and  the  most  disposed  to  comprehension,  said  :  '  Those 
of  the  separation  were  good  men,  but  they  had  narrow 
souls,  who  would  break  the  peace  of  the  Church  about 
such  inconsiderable  matters  as  the  points  in  difference 
were.'    Henry  More,  that  beautiful  spirit,  is  exactly  to  the 
same  effect.     '  A  little  religion  may  make  a  man  schis- 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  183 

matical,  but  a  great  deal  will  surely  make  a  man  decline 
division  where  things  are  tolerable,  which  is  the  case  of 
our  English  Church.'  And  the  more  a  large  way  of 
thinking  comes  to  spread  in  this  nation,  which  by  its 
good  nature  and  good  humour  has  a  natural  turn  for  it, 
the  more  will  this  view  come  to  prevail.  It  will  be 
acknowledged  that  the  Church  is  a  society  for  the  pro- 
motion of  goodness  ;  that  such  a  society  is  the  stronger 
for  being  national,  and  ought  to  be  national ;  that  to  make 
its  operations,  therefore,  more  effectual,  all  good  men 
ought  to  unite  in  it,  and  that  the  objections  of  the  Pro- 
testant Dissenters  to  uniting  in  it  are  trivial. 

At  least,  their  religious  objections  to  uniting  in  it 
are  trivial.  Their  objections  from  the  annoyance  and 
mortification  at  having,  after  they  have  once  separated 
and  set  up  forms  of  their  own,  to  give  in  and  to  accept 
the  established  form,  and  their  allegations  of  their 
natural  jealousy  at  having  to  see,  if  they  do  not  accept  it, 
the  clergy  preferred  before  them  by  being  invested  with 
the  status  of  national  ministers  of  religion — these  objec- 
tions are  much  more  worthy  of  note.  But,  in  the  first 
place,  whatever  preference  is  given,  is  given  for  the  sake 
of  the  whole  community,  not  of  those  preferred.  And 
many  preferences,  for  its  own  sake  and  for  what  it  judges 
to  be  the  public  good,  the  whole  community  may  and 


1 84  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

must  establish.  But  that  which,  as  men's  minds  grow 
larger,  will  above  all  prevent  the  objections  and  complaints 
of  the  Dissenters  from  winning  sympathy  and  from  attain- 
ing effect,  is  that,  in  the  second  place,  it  will  be  more 
and  more  distinctly  perceived  that  their  objections  and 
complaints  are,  to  speak  truly,  iri'eligious  objections  and 
complaints,  and  yet  urged  in  the  sphere  of  religion. 

To  philosophical  Radicals  in  or  out  of  Parliament, 
who  think  that  religion  is  all  a  chimsera,  and  that  in  a 
matter  so  little  important  the  fancies  of  the  Dissenters, 
whose  political  aid  is  valuable,  may  well  be  studied  and 
followed,  this  will  seem  nothing.  But  the  more  the  sense 
of  religion  grows,  and  of  religion  in  a  large  way, — the 
sense  of  the  beauty  and  rest  of  religion,  the  sense  that 
its  charm  lies  in  its  grace  and  peace, — the  more  will 
the  present  attitude,  objections,  and  complaints  of  the 
Dissenters  indispose  men's  minds  to  them.  They  will, 
I  firmly  believe,  lose  ground  ;  they  will  not  keep  hold  of 
the  new  generations.  In  most  of  the  mature  Dissenters 
the  spirit  of  scruple,  objection-taking,  and  division,  is, 
I  fear,  so  ingrained,  that  in  any  proffered  terms  of  union 
they  are  more  likely  to  seize  occasion  for  fresh  cavil  than 
occasion  for  peace.  But  the  new  generations  will  be 
otherwise  minded.  As  to  the  Church's  want  of  grace 
and  peace   in   disputing  the  ground  with   Dissent,  the 


THE   CHURCH   OF  ENGLAND.  185 

justice  of  what  Barrow  says  will  be  more  and  more 
felt  : — 'He  that  being  assaulted  is  constrained  to  stand 
on  his  defence,  may  not  be  said  to  be  in  peace  ;  yet  his 
not  being  so  (involuntarily)  is  not  to  be  imputed  to  him.' 
But  the  Dissenters  have  not  this,  the  Church's  excuse,  for 
being  men  of  war  in  a  sphere  of  grace  and  peace.  And 
they  turn  themselves  into  men  of  war  more  and  more. 

Look  at  one  of  the  ablest  of  them,  who  is  much  before 
the  public,  and  whose  abilities  I  unfeignedly  admire : 
Mr.  Dale.  Mr.  Dale  is  really  a  pugilist,  a  brilliant  pugi- 
list. He  has  his  arena  down  at  Birmingham,  where  he 
does  his  practice  with  Mr.  Chamberlain,  and  Mr.  Jesse 
Collings,  and  the  rest  of  his  band  ;  and  then  from  time  to 
time  he  comes  up  to  the  metropolis,  to  London,  and  gives 
a  public  exhibitio'.i  here  of  his  skill.  And  a  very  power- 
ful performance  it  often  is.  And  the  Times  observes,  that 
the  chief  Dissenting  ministers  are  becoming  quite  the 
intellectual  equals  of  the  ablest  of  the  clergy.  Very 
likely  ;  this  sort  of  practice  is  just  the  right  thing  for 
bracing  a  man's  intellectual  muscles.  I  have  no  fears 
concerning  Mr.  Dale's  intellectual  muscles ;  what  I  am 
a  little  uneasy  about  is  his  religious  temper.  The 
essence  of  religion  is  grace  and  peace.  And  though,  no 
doubt,  Mr.  Dale  cultivates  grace  and  peace  at  other 
times,  when  he  is  not  busy  with  his  anti-Church  practice, 


1 86  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

yet  his  cultivation  of  grace  and  peace  can  be  none  the 
better,  and  must  naturally  be  something  the  worse,  for 
the  time  and  energy  given  to  his  pugiUstic  interludes. 
And  the  more  that  mankind,  instead  of  placing  their 
religion  in  all  manner  of  things  where  it  is  not,  come  to 
place  it  in  sheer  goodness,  and  in  grace  and  peace, — and 
this  is  the  tendency,  I  think,  with  the  English  people, — 
the  less  favourable  will  public  opinion  be  to  the  pro- 
ceedings of  the  political  Dissenters,  and  the  less  has  the 
Church  to  fear  from  their  pugnacious  self-assertion. 

Indeed,  to  eschew  self-assertion,  to  be, — instead  of 
always  thinking  about  one's  freedom,  and  one's  rights,  and 
one's  equality, — to  be,  as  Butler  says,  '  as  much  afraid  of 
subjection  to  mere  arbitrary  will  and  pleasure  in  ourselves 
as  to  the  arbitrary  will  of  others,'  is  the  very  temper  of 
religion.  What  the  clergy  have  to  desire, — and  the  clergy 
of  London  may  well  bear  to  hear  this,  who  have,  as  a 
body,  been  so  honourably  distinguished  for  their  mode  •• 
ration  and  their  intelligence,— what  the  clergy  have  to 
aim  at,  is  the  character  of  simple  instruments  for  the 
public  good.  What  they  have  to  shun,  is  their  action 
having  at  all  the  appearance  of  mere  arbitrary  will  and 
pleasure  of  the  individual.  One  can  hardly  speak  about 
the  Church  at  this  moment  without  touching  on  the 
Burials  Bill.     Give  me  leave  to  say,  that  the  dangerous 


THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  187 

thing  to  the  Church,  as  regards  this  vexed  question  of 
burials,  has  been  the  opening  afforded,  in  the  exclusion 
of  unbaptised  persons,  to  the  exercise  of  what  might 
always  seem,  and  often  was,  the  exercise  of  mere  arbi- 
trary will  and  pleasure  in  the  individual  clergyman. 
This,  it  seems  to  me,  ought  certainly  to  be  abandoned ; 
and  here,  surely,  is  an  occasion  for  remembering  St. 
Paul's  dictum,  that  '  Christ  sent  him  not  to  baptise,  but 
to  preach  the  good  news.'  If  this  exclusion  were  wholly 
abandoned,  if  the  option  of  silent  funerals,  and  of  fune- 
rals with  a  shortened  service,  were  also  given,  I  think  as 
much  would  have  been  done  as  it  is  for  the  public 
advantage  (I  put  the  advantage  of  the  clergy  out  of 
question  altogether, — they  have  none  but  that  of  the 
community),  in  the  special  circumstances  of  this  country, 
to  do.  I  do  not  believe  it  would  be  necessary  to  do  more, 
in  order  to  remove  all  real  sense  of  grievance,  and  to 
end,  for  sensible  people,  the  need  for  further  occupying 
themselves  with  this  whole  barren  and  retarding  question 
of  Church  and  Dissent. 

And  I,  for  my  part,  now  leave  this  question,  I  hope, 
for  ever.  I  became  engaged  in  it  against  my  will,  from 
being  led  by  particular  circumstances  to  remark  the 
deteriorating  effect  of  the  temper  and  strifes  of  Dissent 
upon   good   men,  the  lamentable   waste  of  power  and 


1 88  THE   CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND. 

usefulness  which  was  thereby  caused  ;  and  from  being 
convinced  that  the  right  settlement  was  to  be  reached  in 
one  way  only  :  not  by  disestablishment,  but  by  compre- 
hension and  union.  However,  as  one  grows  old,  one 
feels  that  it  is  not  one's  business  to  go  on  for  ever  expos- 
tulating with  other  people  upon  then-  waste  of  life,  but  to 
make  progress  in  grace  and  peace  oneself  And  this  is  the 
real  business  of  the  Church  too  :  to  make  progress  in 
grace  and  peace.  Force  the  Church  of  England  has  cer- 
tainly some  ;  perhaps  a  good  deal.  But  its  true  strength 
is  in  relying,  not  on  its  powers  of  force,  but  on  its  powers 
of  attractiveness.  And  by  opening  itself  to  the  glow  of 
the  old  and  true  ideal  of  the  Christian  Gospel,  by  fidelity 
to  reason,  by  placing  the  stress  of  its  religion  on  good- 
ness, by  cultivating  grace  and  peace,  it  will  inspire  attach- 
ment, to  which  the  attachment  which  it  inspires  now, 
deep  though  that  is  will  be  as  nothing ;  it  will  last,  be 
sure,  as  long  as  this  nation. 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     189 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

In  my  address  at  Sion  College  I  touched  for  a  moment 
on  the  now  much-discussed  question  of  the  Burials  Bill. 
I  observed,  that  whatever  resembled  an  arbitrary  asser- 
tion of  his  own  private  will  and  pleasure  should  be 
shunned  by  a  clergyman  ;  that  the  exercise  of  his  right 
of  refusing  burial  to  unbaptised  persons  often  resembled, 
and  not  unfrequently  was,  such  an  assertion;  and  that  it 
would  be  for  the  advantage  of  the  Church  to  abandon 
this  right.  I  added  that  if  this  were  done,  and  if  the 
option  of  a  silent  service,  or  of  a  shortened  service,  in 
place  of  the  present  Burial  Service,  were  also  given,  as 
much  would  have  been  conceded  to  the  Dissenters,  in 
the  matter  of  burials,  as  justice  requires,  as  much  as  it  is 
for  the  public  interest  to  concede,  and  as  much  as  it  will 
finally,  I  think,  be  found  necessary  to  concede. 

But  much  more  than  this  is  claimed  for  the  Dis- 
senters. Mr.  Osborne  Morgan's  Bill  lays  down,  that  '  it 
is  just  and  right  to  permit   the  performance   in  parish 


I90    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

churchyards  of  other  burials  than  those  of  the  Church  of 
England,  and  by  other  persons  than  the  ministers  of  that 
Church.'  And  the  Times  says  in  recommendation  of 
Mr.  Osborne  Morgan's  Bill  : — 

'  A  just  legislature  has  to  put  the  business  on  the  basis  of 
justice  and  truth.  It  will  consider  what  a  Dissenter  or  his 
friends  desire,  and  what,  being  in  accordance  with  his  or 
their  wishes,  will  be  no  injustice  or  untruth.  It  does  really 
seem  late  in  the  day  to  have  to  prove  that  the  imposition  of 
a  service  at  variance  with  the  whole  course  of  a  man's  life, 
opinions,  and  practice,  is  an  injustice  and  an  untruth.  An 
Englishman  has  a  right  to  worship  in  the  style  he  thinks 
truest  and  best,  just  as  he  has  a  right  to  dress  as  he  likes,  to 
select  his  own  acquaintances,  or  to  choose  his  own  pursuits. 
Let  the  Dissenting  minister  then,'  concludes  the  Times, 
'  enter  the  churchyard,  and  have  his  own  say  over  his  own 
spiritual  son  or  daughter  ;  and  let  the  incumbent  cease  to 
intrench  himself  in  the  vain  illusion  of  an  inviolable  church- 
yard in  a  parish  which  has  long  ceased  to  be  his  exclusive 
domain.' 

Lord  Selborne,  too,  in  the  debate  on  Lord  Granville's 

resolution  upon  the  subject  of  burials,  treated  it  as   a 

matter  quite  clear  and   self-evident,  that  to    deny   this 

right  to   Dissenters  was  a  "violation   of  the   estabUshed 

EngHsh  principle  of  religious  liberty  : — 

'Is  there  any  conceivable  logical  answer,' he  asked,  'to 
the  observation,  that  in  these  cases  you  deny  after  death  that 
religious  liberty  which  in  every  other  respect  is  given  to  the 
deceased  during  the  whole  of  their  lives  ?    You   deny   this 


A    LAST    WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.  191 

liberty  in  the  present  state  of  things  in  two  ways  :  by  refusing 
to  them  the  hberty  of  being  rehgious  in  their  own  way,  and 
by  imposing  upon  them  the  necessity  of  being  rehgious  in 
your  way.'  '  The  feehngs  of  the  great  majority  of  the  laity/ 
Lord  Selborne  adds,  '  when  it  is  brought  home  to  them  that 
there  is  this  violation  of  the  established  principle  of  rehgious 
liberty  in  dealing  with  interments,  will  go  more  and  more 
with  those  who  complain  of  this  grievance.' 

A  number  of  clergymen,  many  of  them  bearing  names 
well-known  and  respected,  have  proposed,  as  '  a  reason- 
able concession  to  the  feelings  of  Nonconformists,'  to 
'  grant  permission  to  a  recognised  minister  or  representa- 
tive of  any  religious  body  to  perform  in  the  churchyard  a 
funeral  service  consisting  of  passages  of  Holy  Scripture, 
prayers,  and  hymns.'  But  absolute  liberty  is  the  right 
claimed,  and  these  limitations  are  evidently  inconsistent 
with  it.  '  We  are  afraid,'  says  the  Times  of  the  clergy- 
men's proposal,  '  that  even  with  the  most  liberal  interpre- 
tation, this  restriction  leaves  out  of  account  some  com- 
munities for  whose  rights  the  supporters  of  the  Bill  would 
contend  as  strenuously  as  for  those  of  others.  But  it  is  a 
misappi'ehension^  it  is  to  be  apprehended,  of  the  essential 
nature  of  a  Nonconformist,  to  suppose  that  he  would  ever 
pledge  himself  to  conform  to  anything.  The  essence  of  his 
demand  is  to  claim  free  access  to  sacred  places,  which 
the  necessity  of  nature  compels  him  to  use,  with  such 


192     A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

observances  as  the  principles  of  his  communion  may  pre- 
scribe.' Yes,  '  necessity  of  nature.'  For,  it  is  argued, 
'  while  every  other  pubHc  incident  of  a  man's  life  must 
be  optional,  he  must  be  buried.'  And  therefore,  contends 
the  Times  to  exactly  the  same  effect  as  Lord  Selborne, 
'  let  the  natural  necessity  of  burial  be  once  admitted,  and 
the  necessity  of  according  religious  freedom  in  the  satis- 
faction of  it  must  inevitably  be  allowed.' 

Finally,  it  is  said  that  in  all  other  Christian  countries, 
except  Spain,  the  right  of  burying  their  dead  in  the  parish 
churchyard,  with  their  own  services  and  their  own  minis- 
ters, is  conceded  to  Dissenters.  And  here  again,  then, 
is  a  reason  why  in  England  too  the  clergyman  should,  as 
the  Times  says,  '  cease  to  intrench  himself  in  the  vain 
illusion  of  an  inviolable  churchyard  in  a  parish  which  has 
long  ceased  to  be  his  exclusive  domain  ; '  should  *let  the 
Dissenting  minister  enter  the  ground,  and  have  his  own 
say  over  his  own  spiritual  son  or  daughter.' 

I  have  been  asked,  how  the  concession  which  I  spoke 
of  at  Sion  College  can  be  thought  sufficient,  when  it  is  so 
much  less  than  what  the  Dissenters  themselves  and  their 
friends  demand,  than  what  some  of  the  best  of  the  clergy 
offer  to  concede,  tlian  what  natural  justice  and  the 
recognised  English  principle  of  religious  liberty  require, 
and  than  what  is  almost  universally  conceded  in  the  rest 


A    LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.  193 

of  Christendom  ?  And  I  am  asked  this  by  those  who 
approach  the  question,  just  as  I  approach  it  myself,  in  a 
spirit  perfectly  disinterested.  They,  like  myself,  have  no 
political  object  to  serve  by  answering  it  in  a  way  favourable 
to  the  Dissenters,  they  do  not  care  whether  or  not  it  is 
the  liberal-looking,  popular,  taking  thing  so  to  answer  it. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  they  have  no  need  to  bid  for  the 
support  of  the  clergy;  they  are,  moreover,  without  the 
least  touch  of  ecclesiastical  bias.  They  simply  want  to 
get  the  question  answered  in  a  way  to  satisfy  their  own 
minds  and  consciences,  want  to  find  out  what  is  really 
the  right  and  reasonable  course  to  pursue.  And  for  their 
satisfaction,  and  also  for  my  own,  I  return  for  a  moment 
to  this  matter  of  burials,  before  finally  leaving  the  whole 
question  of  Church  and  Dissent ;  that  I  may  not  seem  to 
be  leaving  it  with  a  curt  and  inconsiderate  judgment 
on  a  matter  where  the  feelings  of  the  Dissenters  are 
strongly  interested. 

2. 
What  is  the  intention  of  all  forms  of  public  ceremonial 
and  ministration  ?  It  is,  that  what  is  done  and  said  in  a 
public  place,  and  bears  with  it  a  public  character,  should 
be  done  and  said  worthily.  The  public  is  responsible  for 
it.  The  public  gets  credit  and  advantage  from  it  if  it  is 
done  worthily,  is  compromised  and  harmed  by  it  if  it  is  done 

o 


194  A   LAST   WORD   ON    THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

unworthily.  The  mode,  therefore,  of  performing  public 
functions  in  places  invested  with  a  public  character  is  not 
left  to  the  will  and  pleasure  of  chance  individuals.  It 
is  expressly  designed  to  rise  above  the  level  which  would 
be  thence  given.  If  there  is  a  sort  of  ignobleness  and 
vulgarity  {was  tms  alle  bdndigt,  das  Gemeine)  which 
comes  out  in  the  crude  performance  of  the  mass  of  mankind 
left  to  themselves,  public  forms,  in  a  higher  strain  and  of 
recognised  worth,  are  designed  to  take  the  place  of  such 
crude  performance.  They  are  a  kind  of  schooling,  which 
may  educate  gradually  such  performance  into  something 
better,  and  meanwhile  may  prevent  it  from  standing 
forth,  to  its  own  discredit  and  to  that  of  all  of  us,  as 
public  and  representative.  This,  I  say,  is  evidently  the 
design  of  all  forms  for  pubhc  use  on  serious  and  solemn 
occasions.  No  one  will  say  that  the  common  English- 
man glides  off-hand  and  by  nature  into  a  strain  pure, 
noble,  and  elevated.  On  the  contrary,  he  falls  with  great 
ease  into  vulgarity.  But  no  people  has  shown  more 
attachment  than  the  English  to  old  and  dignified  forms 
calculated  to  save  us  from  it. 

Such  is  the  origin  and  such  is  the  defence  of  the  use 
of  a  set  form  of  burial-service  in  our  public  churchyards. 
It  stands  on  the  same  ground  as  the  use  of  all  appointed 
forms  whatever,  in  public  places  and  on  serious  occa- 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.  195 

sions.  It  is  designed  to  save  public  places  and  occasions, 
and  to  save  our  character  as  a  community,  from  being  dis- 
credited through  what  the  caprice  and  vulgarity  of  indivi- 
duals might  prompt  them  to.  The  moment  a  place  has  a 
public  and  national  character,  there  emerges  the  require- 
ment of  a  public  form  for  use  there.  And  therefore  it  is 
really  quite  marvellous  to  find  a  man  of  Lord  Selborne's 
acuteness  maintaining,  that  to  withhold  from  the  Dissent- 
ing minister  the  right,  as  the  Times  says,  *  to  enter  the 
churchyard  and  have  his  own  say  over  his  own  spiritual 
son  or  daughter,'  is  '  to  deny  after  death  that  religious 
liberty,  which  in  every  other  respect  is  given  to  the  deceased 
during  the  whole  of  their  lives.'  To  be  sure,  Lord  Selborne 
was  speaking  in  a  parliamentary  debate,  where  perhaps 
it  is  lawful  to  employ  any  fallacy  which  your  adversaries 
cannot  at  the  moment  expose.  But  is  it  possible  that 
Lord  Selborne  can  himself  have  been  deceived  by  the 
argument,  that  to  refuse  to  Dissenters  the  liberty  to  have 
what  services  they  please  performed  over  them  in  the 
parish  churchyard,  is  to  '  deny  after  death  that  religious 
liberty,  which  in  every  other  respect  is  given  to  the 
deceased  during  the  whole  of  their  lives'?  True,  the 
deceased  have  had  religious  liberty  during  their  lives, 
have  been  free  to  choose  what  religious  services  they 
pleased.     But  where?     In  private  places.     They   have 


196    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

no  more  been  free,  during  their  lifetime,  to  have  what 
proceedings  they  liked  in  the  parish  church  and  in  the 
parish  churchyard,  than  to  have  what  proceedings  they 
liked  in  the  House  of  Lords  or  in  the  Court  of  Chancery. 
And  for  the  same  reason  in  each  case  :  that  these 
places  are  public  places,  and  that  to  safeguard  the 
worthy  use  of  public  places  we  have  public  fonns. 

That  liberty,  then,  in  his  choice  of  religious  proceed- 
ings, -which  the  deceased  Dissenter  enjoyed  during  his 
lifetime,  or  which  any  Englishman  enjoys,  is  a  liberty 
exercisable  only  in  private  places.  The  Dissenter,  like 
other  people,  enjoys  just  the  same  liberty  after  his  death. 
To  refuse  to  any  and  every  individual  the  liberty  to 
dictate  after  his  death  what  shall  be  done  and  said  in  a 
place  set  apart  for  national  use,  and  belonging  to  the 
pubhc,  is  just  the  same  abridgment  of  his  religious 
liberty, — as  much  and  as  little  an  abridgment  of  it, — as 
he  has  been  subjected  to  during  the  whole  course  of 
his  life.  He  has  never  during  his  whole  life  been  free 
to  have,  in  such  a  place,  whomsoever  he  likes  '  enter  the 
ground  and  have  his  own  say.'  He  is  not  free  to  have  it 
after  his  death. 

It  is  impossible  to  establish  a  distinction  between  a 
man's  rights  in  regard  to  his  burial,  and  his  rights  in 
regard  to  other  public  incidents,  as  they  are  called,  of  his 


A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     197 

life.  They  are  optional,  it  is  sometimes  said ;  burial  is 
necessary.  Even  were  this  true,  it  would  prove  nothing 
as  to  a  need  for  exemption  in  burial,  rather  than  in  other 
matters,  from  the  requirement  of  public  forms  in  public 
places.  Burial  is  necessary,  but  not  burial  in  public 
places.  But  the  proposition  is  practically  not  true.  For 
practical  purposes,  and  in  regard  to  mankind  in  general , 
it  is  not  true  that  marriage  is  optional.  It  is  not  even 
true  that  religious  worship  is  optional.  Human  nature 
being  what  it  is,  and  society  being  what  it  is,  religious 
worship  and  marriage  may  both  of  them,  like  burial,  be 
called  necessary.  They  come  in  the  regular  course  of 
things  and  engage  men's  sentiments  widely  and  deeply. 
And  everything  that  can  be  said  about  the  naturalness  of 
a  man's  wishing  to  be  buried  in  the  parish  churchyard  by 
a  minister  of  his  own  persuasion  and  with  a  service  to  his 
own  liking,  may  be  said  about  the  naturalness  of  his 
wishing  to  be  married  in  the  parish  church  in  like  fashion. 
And  the  same  of  worshipping  in  the  parish  church.  It  is 
natural  that  a  man  should  wish  to  enjoy,  in  his  own 
parish  church,  worship  of  his  own  choice,  conducted  by 
a  minister  of  his  own  selecting.  And  the  hearty  believers 
in  a  man's  natural  right  to  have  in  the  parish  churchyard 
a  burial  to  his  own  liking,  do  not  conceal  that  they 
believe  also  in  a  man's  natural  right  to  have  in  the  parish 


198    A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

church  a  worship  to  his  own  Uking.  '  Let  me  be  honest 
about  it,'  said  Sir  Wilfrid  Lawson  at  CarHsle  ;  '  if  you  let 
the  Nonconformist  into  the  churchyard,  that  is  only  a 
step  towards  letting  him  into  the  church.'  The  two 
rights  do,  in  fact,  stand  on  precisely  the  same  footing. 
If  the  naturalness  of  a  man's  wishing  for  a  thing  creates 
for  him  a  right  to  do  it,  then  a  Dissenter  can  urge  his 
right  to  have  his  own  minister  say  his  say  over  him  in 
the  parish  churchyard.  Equally  can  he  urge  his  right  to 
have  his  own  minister  say  his  say  to  him  in  the  parish 
church. 

What  bars  the  right  is  in  both  cases  just  the  same 
thing  :  the  higher  right  of  the  community.  For  the  credit 
and  welfare  of  the  community,  public  forms  are  appointed 
to  be  observed  in  public  places.  The  will  and  pleasure  of 
individuals  is  not  to  have  sway  there.  This  is  what  bars 
the  Nonconformist's  right  to  have  in  his  life-time  what 
minister  and  service  he  likes  in  the  parish  church.  It  is 
also  what  bars  his  right  to  have  after  his  death  what 
minister  and  service  he  likes  in  the  parish  churchyard. 

Certain  clergymen  have  been  arbitrary,  insolent,  and 
vexatious,  in  exercising  the  power  given  to  them  by  that 
rubric  Avhich  excludes  unbaptised  persons  from  a  legal 
claim  to  the  burial-service  of  the  Church  of  England.  I 
can  understand  people  being  provoked  into  a  desire  to 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BII^L.     199 

'  give  a  lesson,'  as  Lord  Coleridge  said,  to  such  clergy- 
men, by  admitting  Dissenting  ministers  to  perform , 
burial-services  in  the  churchyard.  I  can  understand  the 
better  spirits  among  the  clergy  being  disposed,  out  of 
shame  and  regret  at  the  doings  of  some  of  their  brethren, 
to  concede  to  Dissenters  what  they  desire  in  the  matter 
of  burials.  I  can  understand  their  being  disposed  to 
concede  it,  too,  out  of  love  of  peace,  and  from  the 
wish  to  end  disputes  and  to  conciliate  adversaries  by 
abandoning  a  privilege.  But  the  requirement  of  a  fixed 
burial-service  in  the  parish  churchyard  is  not  made  for 
the  benefit  of  the  clergy,  or  in  order  to  confer  upon  the 
clergy  a  privilege.  It  is  made  for  the  benefit  of  the 
community.  It  is  not  to  be  abandoned  out  of  resent- 
ment against  those  who  abuse  it,  or  out  of  generosity  on 
the  part  of  the  more  liberal  clergy.  They  are  generous 
with  what  is  really,  however  it  may  appear  to  them,  not  a 
privilege  of  theirs,  but  a  safeguard  of  ours.  If  it  is  for 
the  advantage  of  the  community  that  in  public  places 
some  public  form  should  be  followed,  if  the  community 
nms  risk  of  discredit  from  suffering  individuals  to  say 
and  do  what  they  like  in  such  places,  and  if  the  burial- 
service  of  the  Church  of  England  is  enjoined  on  this 
principle,  then  it  is  not  to  be  given  up  in  order  to  punish 
the  folly  of  some  of  the  clergy  or  to  gratify  the  generosity 


200    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

of  others.  If  the  principle  on  which  it  has  been  en- 
joined is  sound,  the  service  is  to  be  retained  for  the  sake 
of  this  principle. 

And  so  evidently  sound  is  the  principle,  that  the 
politicians  who  take  the  Dissenters'  cause  in  hand 
cannot  help  feeling  its  force.  Mr.  Osborne  Morgan 
proposes,  while  allowing  the  Dissenters  to  have  their 
own  services  in  the  parish  churchyard,  to  '  make  proper 
provision  for  order  and  decency.'  Lord  Granville 
stipulates  that  the  services  shall  be  conducted  'm  an 
orderly  and  Christian  manner.'  But  unless  these  are 
mere  words,  meant  to  save  appearances  but  not  to  have 
any  real  operation,  we  are  thus  brought  back  to  the  use 
of  some  pubhc  and  recognised  form  for  burials  in  the 
parish  churchyard.  And  the  burial-service  of  the  Church 
of  England  was  meant  for  a  public  and  recognised  form 
of  this  kind,  which  people  at  large  could  accept,  and 
w^hich  ensured  an  'orderly  and  Christian'  character  to 
proceedings  in  the  parish  churchyard.  Proceedings 
dependent  solely  on  the  will  and  pleasure  of  chance 
individuals,  and  liable  to  bear  the  marks  of  their 
'  natural  taste  for  the  bathos,'  as  Swift  calls  it,  cannot 
ensure  this  character.  But  proceedings  in  a  public  place 
ought  to  have  it.  And  that  they  ought,  the  very  politicians 
who  advocate  the  Dissenters'  cause  admit. 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     201 

So  it  is  a  case  for  revision  of  the  public  form  of 
burial  at  present  imposed.  The  burial-service  of  the 
Prayer- Book  was  meant  to  be  used  in  the  parish  church- 
yard over  all  Christians, — meant  to  suit  all.  It  does  not 
suit  all.  Some  people  object  to  things  in  the  service  itself. 
More  object  to  being  strictly  confined  to  that  service 
only.  More  still  object  to  being  deprived,  in  their 
burial;  of  the  offices  of  a  minister  of  their  own  persuasion. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  self-willed  clergyman  is  enabled  by 
a  rubric  of  the  burial-service  to  withhold  its  use  in  some 
cases  where  its  use  is  desired,  and  where  to  withhold  it  is 
both  foolish  and  cruel.  Such  is  the  present  state  of  things. 
And  it  has  to  be  dealt  with  by  means  of  some  change  or 
other,  which  shall  remove  causes  for  just  discontent, 
without  abandoning  the  principle  of  requiring  proper  and 
worthy  forms  to  be  observed  at  proceedings  in  the  parish 
churchyard. 

3- 

There  is  division  among  Christians,  and  in  no  country 
are  they  found  all  agreeing  to  adopt  the  same  forms  and 
ministers  of  religion.  Difi"erent  bodies  of  Christians 
have  their  own  forms  and  ministers.  And  except  in 
England  these  different  bodies  have,  it  is  said,  the 
churchyard  in  common.  In  Ireland  it  is  so.  In  Scotland 
there  is,  as  in  England,  an  Established  Church  ;  yet  in 


202     A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL, 

Scotland  the  forms  and  ministers  of  other  reHgious  bodies 
are  admitted  to  the  use  of  the  parish  churchyard.  In 
France  the  CathoHcs  are  in  an  enormous  majority,  yet 
Protestants  can  be  buried  with  their  own  forms  in  the 
graveyards  of  CathoHc  churches.  In  Germany,  where 
both  CathoHcs  and  Protestants  are  found  in  great 
numbers,  and  much  intermixed,  the  churchyards  of  the 
one  confession  are  open  to  the  burial-rites  of  the  other. 

Now,  in  comparing  the  Church  of  England  with  other 
Churches,  it  is  right  to  remember  one  character  which 
distinguishes  it  from  all  of  them.  The  Church  of  Eng- 
land was  meant,  in  the  intention  of  those  who  settled  it 
at  the  Reformation,  to  satisfy  the  whole  English  people 
and  to  be  accepted  by  them.  It  was  meant  to  include  both 
CathoHcs  and  Protestants  in  a  compromise  between  old 
and  new,  rejecting  Romish  corruptions  and  errors,  but 
retaining  from  Catholicism  all  that  was  sound  and  truly 
attaching,  and  thus  to  provide  a  revised  form  of  religion, 
adapted  to  the  nation  at  large  as  things  then  stood,  and 
receivable  by  it.  No  other  Church  has  been  settled  with 
the  like  design.  And  therefore  no  other  Church  stands 
precisely  on  the  like  ground  in  offering  its  formularies  to 
people.  For  whereas  other  Churches,  in  offering  their 
fomiularies  to  people,  offer  them  with  the  recommendation 
that  here   is   truth   and   everywhere   else    is   error,   the 


A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     203 

Church  of  England,  in  offering  its  formularies  to 
Englishmen,  offers  them  with  the  recommendation  that 
here  is  truth  presented  expressly  so  as  to  suit  and  unite 
the  English  nation.  And  therefore  to  no  Church  can 
dissent  be  so  mortifying  as  to  the  Church  of  England  ; 
because  dissent  is  the  denial,  not  only  of  her  profession 
of  the  truth,  but  also  of  her  success  in  her  direct  design. 
However,  this  cannot  make  things  otherwise  than  they 
are.  The  Church  of  England,  whatever  may  have 
been  its  design,  does  not  manage  to  satisfy  every  one 
any  more  than  the  Churches  in  other  countries.  And 
whatever  special  mortification  she  may  have  cause  for, 
in  seeing,  around  her,  forms  and  ministers  of  religion 
other  than  her  own,  that  is  no  reason  why  she  should  be 
less,  liberal  in  her  dealings  with  them  than  the  Churches 
in  other  countries.  Either  she  must  manage  to  suit  them 
herself,  or  she  must  be  liberal  to  them. 

Reciprocity,  at  any  rate,  is  but  fair.  If  the  burial- 
rites  of  the  Church  of  England  are  admitted  to  Presby- 
terian churchyards  in  Scotland,  and  to  Catholic  church- 
yards in  Ireland,  the  burial-rites  of  Scotch  Presbyterians 
and  of  Irish  Catholics  ought  surely  to  be  admitted  to 
Anglican  churchyards.  There  can  be  no  fear  that  the 
burial-rite  of  either  should  do  discredit  to  the  churchyard. 
The  funerals  of  Scotch  Presbyterians  are  conducted,  I 


204    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

believe,  in  silence.  In  a  silent  interment  there  can  be 
nothing  offensive.  The  Catholic  offices  for  the  dead 
are  the  source  from  whence  our  own  are  taken.  In 
either  case  we  have  the  security  for  decency  which  the 
deliberate  public  consent  of  large  and  well-known  bodies 
of  our  fellow  Christians  affords  on  behalf  of  the  burial- 
rites  in  use  with  them.  Great  bodies,  like  these,  are  not 
likely  to  have  given  their  sanction  to  a  form  of  burial- 
service  discreditable  to  a  public  churchyard  and  inadmis- 
sible there.  And  if  we  had  only  to  deal  with  the  Pres- 
byterians and  the  Catholics,  the  burials  question  would 
present  itself  under  conditions  very  different  from  those 
which  now  do  actually  attend  it.  Nay,  if  the  English 
Dissenters  were  reducible,  even,  to  a  few  great  divisions, 
— suppose  to  the  well-known  three  denominations, — and 
either  there  were  a  common  form  of  burial-service 
among  these  denominations,  or  each  denomination  had 
its  own;  and  if  the  Dissenters  were  content  to  be  thus 
classed,  and  to  adhere  either  to  a  single  form  of  Dis- 
senters'burial-service,  or  to  one  out  of  two  or  three;  then, 
also,  the  case  would  be  different. 

But  these  are  not  the  conditions  under  which  we  are 
dealing  with  the  burials  question.  The  dissidence  of 
Dissent  and  the  Protestantism  of  the  Protestant  religion 
have  brought  the  Dissenters  in  England  to  classify  them- 


A  LAST   IVORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     205 

selves,  not  in  two  or  three  divisions,  but  in,  I  believe,  one 
hundred  and  thirty-eight.  And  their  contention  is,  that  no 
matter  how  they  may  split  themselves  up,  they  have  still 
their  right  to  the  churchyard ; — new  sects  as  much  as  old, 
small  sects  as  much  as  great,  obscure  sects  as  much  as 
famous ;  Ranters,  Recreative  Religionists,  and  Peculiar 
People,  as  much  as  Presbyterians  and  Baptists.  And  no 
man  is  entitled  to  tell  them  that  they  must  manage  to  agree 
among  themselves  upon  one  admissible  form  of  burial- 
service  or  upon  one  or  two  admissible  forms.  That 
would  be  restricting  their  religious  liberty.  '  It  is  a  mis- 
apprehension,' the  Ti7nes,  their  advocate,  tells  us,  '  of  the 
essential  nature  of  a  Nonconformist,  to  suppose  that  he 
could  ever  pledge  himself  to  conform  to  anything.  The 
essence  of  his  demand  is  to  claim  free  access  to  sacred 
places,  which  the  necessity  of  nature  compels  him  to  use, 
with  such  observances  as  the  principles  of  his  communion 
may  prescribe.'  Whether  the  observances  are  seemly, 
and  such  as  to  befit  a  public  and  venerable  place,  we  are 
not  to  ask.  Probably  the  Dissenters  themselves  think 
that  a  man's  conscience  recommending  them  to  him 
makes  them  so.  And  what  Lord  Granville  and  Mr. 
Osborne  Morgan  and  the  political  friends  of  the  Dis- 
senters think  on  this  matter,  and  how  they  propose  to 
ensure  the  decent  and  Christian  order  for  which  they 


2o6    A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

stipulate,  and  at  the  same  time  not  to  violate  that 
essential  principle  of  a  Nonconformist's  nature  which 
forbids  him  in  religion  '  ever  to  pledge  himself  to  conform 
to  anything/  does  not  quite  appear.  Perhaps  they  have 
not  looked  into  the  thing  much.  Or  they  may  think  that  it 
does  not  matter  much,  and  that  the  observances  of  one 
body  of  religionists  are  likely  to  be  about  as  good  as 
those  of  another. 

Yet  surely  there  is  likely  to  be  a  wide  difference 
between  the  observances  of  a  great  body  like  the 
Presbyterians,  counting  its  adherents  by  hundreds  of 
thousands,  having  existed  for  a  long  time,  and  possess- 
ing a  well-known  reason  for  existence, — counting,  also, 
amongst  its  adherents,  a  great  mass  of  educated  people, — 
there  is  likely  to  be  a  wide  difference  between  the 
observances  of  a  body  like  this,  and  the  observances  of 
such  a  body,  say,  as  the  Peculiar  People.  Both  are 
Dissenters  in  England.  But  one  affords  the  same  sort  of 
security,  that  its  proceedings  in  a  parish  churchyard  will 
be  decorous,  which  Anglicanism  itself  affords.  The  other 
affords  no  such  security  at  all.  And  it  is  precisely  in 
the  country  churchyards,  if  accessible  to  them,  that  the 
observances  of  ignorant  and  fanatical  little  sects  would 
parade  themselves  ;  for  these  sects  are  found  above  all  in 
country  places,  where  there  are  no  cemeteries,  and  not 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     207 

in  great  towns,  where  these  are.  And  we  are  not  to  take 
security  against  such  a  violation  of  the  parish  churchyard, 
by  requiring  the  hundred  and  thirty-eight  Dissenting 
sects  to  agree  to  one  or  more  authorisable  forms  of  burial- 
service  for  themselves,  if  they  object  to  the  burial-service 
of  the  Church  of  England,  because,  where  religious 
observances  are  concerned, '  it  is  the  essential  nature  of 
a  Nonconformist  not  to  pledge  himself  to  conform  to 
anything  ! '  But  the  Nonconformist's  pretension,  to  be 
dispensed  from  pledging  himself  thus,  can  only  be  allowed 
so  long  as  he  is  content  to  forego,  in  exercising  it,  the 
use  of  places  mth  a  public  and  national  character.  To 
admit  such  a  pretension  in  those  using,  for  any  purpose, 
a  place  with  a  public  and  national  character,  is  a  mere 
plunge  into  barbarism. 

The  example  of  foreign  countries  is  quoted,  and  of 
the  foreign  countries  most  like  our  own,  France  and 
Germany.  In  France  there  are  many  churchyards  with 
a  separate  portion  for  Protestants,  and  in  this  separate 
portion  Protestants  are  buried  with  their  own  rites  and 
by  their  own  ministers.  This,  as  has  been  pointed  out,  is 
not  what  our  Dissenters  wish  for  or  would  accept.  In 
Germany  there  is  no  such  separation,  and  Protestants  are 
buried  in  CathoHc  churchyards  by  their  own  ministers, 
with  their  own  rites.     But,  in  either   case,   7vhat  Pro- 


2o8     A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

testants?  In  France,  Protestants  belonging  to  the 
Reformed,  or  Calvinistic,  Church ;  a  Church  with  a  great 
history,  a  Church  well  known,  with  a  well-known  rite, 
and  paid  and  recognised  by  the  State  equally  with  the 
Catholic  Church.  In  Germany,  Protestants  belonging  to 
the  Lutheran  Church,  to  the  Calvinistic  Church,  and  to 
the  Church  formed  by  the  union  of  the  two.  Like  the 
Reformed  Church  in  France,  these  are  all  of  them 
public  bodies,  with  a  public  status,  a  recognised  rite,  and 
offering  sound  security  for  their  proper  use  of  a  public 
place  like  the  churchyard.  Do  English  people  imagine 
that  in  France  or  Germany,  whose  liberality  is  vaunted 
at  the  expense  of  ours,  Ranters  or  Recreative  Religionists 
or  Peculiar  People  are  all  of  them  free  to  'have  their 
say  '  in  the  parish  churchyards  ?  Do  they  imagine  that 
in  the  use,  such  as  it  is,  of  Catholic  churchyards  by 
Protestants  in  France  and  Germany,  the  '  essential  prin- 
ciple '  of  our  English  Nonconformist,  '  not  to  pledge 
himself  to  conform  to  anything,'  is  allowed  to  have  sway  ? 
If  they  do,  they  are  very  much  mistaken. 

Nothing,  therefore,  in  the  example  of  France  and 
Germany  condemns  the  taking  a  security  from  those  who 
are  admitted  to  use  their  burial-rites  in  the  parish  church- 
yard. If  Catholics  and  the  three  Dissenting  denomi- 
nations were  admitted,  each  with   a  recognised   burial- 


A   LAST    WORD   OIV   THE  BURIALS   BILL.     209 

service,  to  our  churchyards,  that  would  be,  in  a  general 
way,   a  following  of  the  precedent  set  by  France  and 
Germany; — at  any  rate,  of  the  precedent  set  by  Germany. 
But  to  this   the  Nonconformists  themselves  will  never 
consent,  therefore  it  is  idle  to  propose  it.     And  there  are 
other  reasons,  too,  for  not  proposing  such  an   arrange- 
ment  in   this   country.      In   the   first   place,    it   is   not 
required  in  order  to  ensure  religious  burial  for  Christians 
of  all   kinds.     The    Church  of   England,  as   has   been 
already  said,  was  expressly  meant  to  serve  the  needs  of 
the  whole  community.     And  speaking  broadly  and  gene- 
rally, one  may  say  that  the  whole  Christian  community 
has  at  present  a  legal  right  to  her  burial-offices,  and  does 
obtain   them.      The    Catholic    Church   does   not   bury 
Protestants,  but  the  Church  of  England  buries  Protes- 
tants and  Catholics  alike.     Then,  too,  the  mass  of  the 
Protestant  Dissenters  use  the  burial-service  of  the  Church 
of    England   without   objection.      And   the    country   is 
accustomed  from  of  old  to  see  used  in  the  parish  church- 
yards this  burial-service  only,  and  to  see  it  performed  by 
the  clergyman  only.     Public  feeling  would  certainly  be 
displeased  by  a  startling  innovation  in  such  a  matter, 
without  urgent   need.      And  there   is  no   urgent   need. 
Again,  there  is  certainly  a  danger  that  Catholics,  their 
position  towards  the  Church  of  England  being  what  it  is, 

p 


2IO     A   LAST    WORD   ON   THE   BURIALS  BILL, 

might  be  disposed,  if  they  were  admitted  with  their 
ceremonies  to  the  parish  churchyards,  to  make  capital,  as 
the  phrase  is,  out  of  that  event,  to.  render  it  subservient 
to  farther  ends  of  their  own.  And  this  danger  does  not 
exist  on  the  Continent,  for  there  the  Catholics  stand 
towards  no  Protestant  Church  in  the  position  which  here 
they  hold  towards  the  Church  of  England.  It  does  not 
exist  in  Scotland,  where  the  Established  Church  is  not  (I 
may  say  it,  I  hope,  as  I  mean  it,  without  offence)  a 
suflficiently  great  affair  to  tempt  Catholics  to  make 
capital  out  of  the  admission  of  their  rites  to  the  parish 
churchyards.  All  this  would  incline  one  to  keep  the  prac- 
tice as  to  burials  in  the  main  as  it  is  now,  in  the  Enghsh 
churchyards,  unless  there  is  some  clear  hardship  in  it, 

Such  a  hardship  is  found  by  some  people  in  the  mere 
fact  of  not  being  free  to  choose  one's  own  rite  and  one's 
own  minister.  As  to  the  free  choice  of  rite  in  a  public 
place,  enough  has  been  said  ;  and  it  is  admitted  that  in 
itself  the  burial-rite  of  the  Church  of  England  is  not 
generally  unacceptable.  There  remains  the  hardship  of 
not  being  able  to  have  one's  own  minister  to  bury  one. 
The  language  used  by  Lord  Granville  on  this  topic  was 
surprising.  No  doubt,  the  feelings  may  be  soothed  and 
pleased  by  the  thought  that  the  service  over  one's  remains 
will  be  performed  by  a  friend  and  acquaintance,  not  by  a 


A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     211 

stranger.     But  to  say  that  the  sentiment  demanding  this 

satisfaction  is  so  deep  and  natural  that  its  demands  must 

without  fail  be   obeyed,   and   that   much   ought  to   be 

sacrificed  in  order  to  enable  us  to  obey  them,  is  really 

ridiculous.     From  the  nature  of  things,  such  a  sentiment 

cannot  generally   be   indulged.      Life   and   its   chances 

being  what  they  are,  to  expect  that  the  minister,  whose 

services  we  require  to  bury  us,  shall  be  at  the  same  time 

a  friend  or  acquaintance,  shall  be  at  any  rate  a  man  of 

our  own  choosing,  is  extravagant.     That  the  form  fixed 

for  him  to  follow  in  ministering  over  us  shall  in  itself  be 

proper  and  acceptable,  is  the  great  matter.     This  being 

once  secured,  the  more  we  forget  the  functionary  in  the 

service,  the  better.      The  Anglican  burial-service  has  a 

person  appointed  to  read  it :  the  parish  clergyman.     In 

itself,  the  Anglican  burial-service  is  considered,  by  the 

great  majority  of  Protestant  Dissenters,  fit  and  acceptable. 

And   it   is   taken,   almost    every   word   of  it,  from   the 

Catholic  offices  of  religion,   the   old   common   form   of 

worship    for   Christendom.      For    a   national    Christian 

burial-service  this  is  surely  enough.     The  service  is  both 

approved  and  appro vable.  But  Lord  Granville's  sentiment, 

it  seems,  is  wounded,  unless  he   may  also  approve  the 

minister  who  is  to  read  it  over  him.     I  should  never 

have  credited  him  with  so  much  scrupulosity. 


212     A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

A  parishioner's  right  to  be  buried  in  the  parish 
churchyard,  with  this  approved  and  approvable  burial- 
service,  is  what  we  really  have  to  guard.  The  real 
grievance  is  when  this  right  is  infringed.  It  is  occasion- 
ally infringed,  and  infringed  very  improperly  and  vexa- 
tiously.  The  means  for  infringing  it  are  afforded  by  the 
rubric  prefixed  to  the  burial-service,  a  rubric  directing 
that  '  the  office  ensuing  is  not  to  be  used  for  any  that  die 
unbaptised,  or  excommunicate,  or  have  laid  violent 
hands  upon  themselves.'  Excommunication  is  no  longer 
practised.  To  refuse  the  burial-office  to  suicides  is  a 
penal  measure,  in  the  abstract  perhaps  consonant  with 
public  opinion,  practically,  however,  in  all  but  extreme 
cases,  evaded  by  treating  the  suicide  as  of  unsound 
mind.  In  the  denial  of  the  burial-office  to  '  any  that  die 
unbaptised '  lies  the  true  source  of  grievance. 

The  office  is  meant  for  Christians,  and  this  was  what 
the  rubric  intended,  no  doubt,  to  mark  ;  baptism  being 
taken  as  the  stamp  common  to  all  Christians.  But  a  large 
and  well-known  sect  of  Christians,  the  Baptists,  defer 
baptism  until  the  recipient  is  of  adult  age,  and  their  chil- 
dren, therefore,  if  they  die,  die  unbaptised.  To  inquire 
whether  a  child  presented  for  burial  is  a  Baptist's  child 
or  not,  is  an  inquiry  which  no  judicious  and  humane 
clergyman   would   make.      The   office   was    meant    for 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.    213 

Christians,  and  Baptists  are  Christians,  for  surely  they  do 
not  cease  to  be  so  because  of  their  tenet  of  adult  baptism. 
Adult  baptism  was  undoubtedly  the  primitive  usage, 
although  the  change  of  usage  adopted  by  the  Church  was 
natural  and  legitimate,  and  the  sticklers  (as  may  so  often 
be  said  of  the  sticklers  in  these  questions)  would  have 
been  wiser  had  they  acquiesced  in  it.  But  the  rubric 
dresses  the  clergyman  in  an  authority  for  investigating 
and  excluding,  which  enables  a  violent  and  unwise  man  to 
play  tricks  that  might,  indeed,  make  the  angels  weep. 
Where  he  has  the  law  on  his  side,  he  can  refuse  the  burial- 
service  outright  to  innocent  infants  and  children  the  most 
piously  brought  up  ;  he  can,  under  pretence  of  doubt  and 
inquiry,  adjourn,  and  often  withhold  it,  where  he  has  not. 
Such  a  man  does  harm  to  the  Church  ;  but  it  is  not 
likely  that  he  will  have  the  sense  to  see  this,  when  he  has 
not  eyes  to  see  what  harm  he  does  to  himself  There  may 
not  be  many  of  such  men,  but  a  few  make  a  great  noise, 
and  do  a  great  deal  of  mischief  There  is  no  stronger 
proof  of  the  immense  power  of  inspiring  attachment 
which  the  Church  of  England  possesses,  and  of  the 
lovable  and  admirable  qualities  sho\vn  by  many  of  the 
clergy,  than  that  the  Church  should  still  have  so  strong  a 
hold  upon  the  affections  of  the  country,  in  spite  of  such 
mischief-makers.      If  the  Church   ever  loses  it  and  is 


214    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

broken  up,  it  will  be  by  their  fault.  It  was  the  view  of 
this  sort  of  people  with  their  want  of  temper  and  want 
of  judgment,  the  view  of  their  mischievous  action, 
exerting  itself  with  all  the  pugnacity  and  tenacity  of  the 
British  character,  and  of  their  fatal  prominence,  which 
moved  Clarendon,  a  sincere  friend  of  the  Church  of 
England,  to  that  terrible  sentence  of  his  :  '  Clergymen, 
who  understand  the  least,  and  take  the  worst  measure  of 
human  affairs,  of  all  mankind  that  can  write  and  read ! ' 

The  truly  desirable,  the  indispensable  change  in  the 
regulation  of  burials,  is  to  remove  the  power  of  doing 
mischief  which  such  persons  now  enjoy.  And  the  best 
way  to  remove  it,  is  to  strike  out  the  first  rubric  to  the 
burial-service  altogether.  Excommunicated  persons  there 
are  none  to  exclude.  What  is  gained  by  insisting  on  the 
exclusion  of  suicides  ?  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the  plea 
of  unsound  mind  is  at  present  used  to  prevent  their 
exclusion,  from  the  natural  feeling  that  to  exclude  them 
is  really  to  visit  their  offence,  not  upon  them,  but  upon 
their  relations  and  friends, — to  punish  the  living  for  the 
fault  of  the  dead.  Where  ought  the  widest  latitude  of 
merciful  construction  to  be  more  permitted,  where  ought 
rigidity  in  sentencing,  condemning,  and  excluding  to  be 
more  discouraged,  than  in  giving  or  withholding  Christian 
burial  ?   Of  the  test  of  baptism  we  have  just  now  spoken. 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     215 

It  was  meant  as  a  test  of  the  Christian  profession  of  those 
buried  in  a  Christian  churchyard.  The  test  exckides  many 
whose  Christian  profession  is  undoubted.  But  with 
regard  to  this  profession,  again,  where  is  the  virtue  of 
being  jealously  critical  after  a  man's  death  and  when  he 
is  brought  for  burial  ?  What  good  end  can  be  served  by 
severity  here,  what  harm  prevented?  Those  who  were 
avowedly  and  notoriously  not  Christians,  will,  it  may  be 
supposed,  have  forbidden  their  friends  to  bring  them  for 
Christian  burial.  If  their  friends  do  bring  them,  that  is 
in  fact  to  recant  on  behalf  of  the  dead  his  errors,  and  to 
make  him  profess  Christianity.  Surely  the  Church  can 
be  satisfied  with  that,  so  far,  at  least,  as  not  to  refuse  him 
burial !  But,  in  fact,  the  great  majority  of  those  who 
reject  Christianity,  and  who  openly  say  so,  have  never- 
theless been  baptised,  and  cannot  be  excluded  from 
Christian  burial.  Can  it  be  imagined,  that  the  mere  rite 
of  baptism  is  a  rite  the  non-performance  of  which  on  a 
man  during  his  lifetime  makes  the  Christian  burial  of  him, 
after  his  death,  a  vain  and  impious  mockery?  Yes, 
clergymen  can  be  found  who  imagine  even  this.  Clergy- 
men write  and  print  that  their  conscience  will  not  suffer 
them  to  pronounce  words  of  hope  over  an  unbaptised 
person,  because  Jesus  Christ  said  :  '  Except  a  man  be  born 
of  water  and  of  the  Spirit,  he  cannot  enter  into  the  kingdom 


2i6    A   LAST   WORD   ON   THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

of  God.'  Perhaps  no  vagaries  in  the  way  of  misinterpre- 
tation of  Scripture-texts  ought  to  cause  surprise,  the  thing 
is  so  common.  But  this  misinterpretation  of  Jesus  Christ's 
words  is  peculiarly  perverse,  because  it  makes  him  say 
just  the  very  opposite  of  what  he  meant  to  say.  '  Except 
a  man  be  cleajised  and  receive  a  new  injliience,'  Jesus 
meant  to  say,  'he  cannot  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.' 
And  St.  Peter  explains  what  this  bei?ig  cleansed  is  :  '  The 
answer  of  a  good  conscience  towards  God,' — of  which 
baptism  is  merely  the  figure.  ReUance  on  miracles, 
reliance  on  supposed  privileges,  rehance  on  external  rites 
of  any  kind,  are  exactly  what  our  Saviour  meant,  in  the 
words  given  in  the  Fourth  Gospel,  to  condemn ; — reliance 
on  anything,  except  an  interior  change. 

The  rubric  in  question,  therefore,  might  with  advantage 
be  expunged  altogether.  If  clergymen  complain  that 
they  shall  then  be  compelled  to  pronounce  words  of 
hope  and  assurance  in  cases  where  it  is  shocking,  and  a 
mere  mockery,  to  use  them,  it  is  to  be  said  that  this  they 
are  just  as  much  compelled  to  do  now.  But  no  doubt 
such  a  necessity  ought  not  to  be  imposed  upon  the  clerg}'-. 
And  in  some  cases,  so  long  as  the  service  stands  as  it 
does  now,  it  is  imposed  upon  them,  and  this  equally 
whether  the  rubric  is  struck  out  or  not.  The  words 
expressing  good  hope  concerning  the  particular  person 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     217 

buried  impose  it.  But  perhaps  what  has  been  said  of 
the  unadvisableness  of  using  the  occasion  of  burial  for 
passing  sentence  of  condemnation  or  pronouncing  an 
opinion  against  the  particular  person  dead,  is  true  also, 
though  certainly  in  a  much  less  degree,  of  using  it  for 
pronouncing  an  opinion  in  his  favour.  We  are  intruding 
into  things  too  much  beyond  our  ken.  At  any  rate,  even 
though  the  bystanders,  who  know  the  history  of  the 
departed,  may  well  in  their  hearts  apply  specially  to  him 
the  hopes  and  promises  for  the  righteous,  the  general 
burial-service  has  another  function.  It  moves  in  a  higher 
region  than  this  region  of  personal  application.  Its 
grandeur  Hes  in  its  being  a  service  over  man  buried. 
'  We  commit  his  body  to  the  ground  in  the  sure  and 
certain  hope  of  the  resurrection  to  eternal  life,'  is  exactly 
right.  The  resurrection,  not  this  or  that  individual's 
resurrection.  We  affirm  our  sure  and  certain  hope,  that 
for  man  a  resurrection  to  eternal  life  there  is.  To  add 
anything  like  a  pronouncement  concerning  this  or  that 
man's  special  share  in  it,  is  not  the  province  of  a  general 
service.  The  words,  '  as  our  hope  is  this  our  brother 
doth,'  would  really  be  better  away.  For  the  sake  of  the 
service  itself,  its  truth,  solemnity,  and  impressiveness, 
they  would  be  better  away.  And  if  they  were  away, 
there  would  be  removed  with  them  a  source  of  shock 


2i8    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

and  distress  to  the  conscience  of  the  officiating  clergyman, 
which  exists  now,  and  which,  he  might  say,  would  exist 
even  more  were  the  introductory  rubric  expunged. 

The  requirement  of  a  fixed  and  noble  form,  con- 
secrated by  use  and  sentiment,  as  the  national  burial- 
service  in  our  parish  churchyards,  is  a  thing  of  the 
highest  importance  and  value.  Speech-making  and  prayer- 
making,  substitutions  or  additions  of  individual  inven- 
tion, hazarded  ex  ie?npore,  seem  to  me  unsuitable  and 
undesirable  for  such  a  place  and  such  an  occasion.  In 
general,  what  it  is  sought  to  give  utterance  to  by  them 
can  find  its  proper  expression  in  the  funeral-sermon  at 
another  time.  With  hymns  the  case  is  diff"erent.  They 
are  not  inventions  made  off-hand  by  individuals  round 
the  grave.  We  at  least  know  what  they  will  be,  and  we 
are  safe  in  them  from  the  incalculable  surprises  and 
shocks  of  a  speech  or  an  outpouring.  Hymns,  such  as 
we  know  them,  are  a  sort  of  composition  which  I  do  not 
at  all  admire.  I  freely  say  so  now,  as  I  have  often  said 
it  before.  I  regret  their  prevalence  and  popularity 
amongst  us.  Taking  man  in  his  totaHty  and  in  the  long 
run,  bad  music  and  bad  poeiry,  to  whatever  good  and 
useful  purposes  a  man  may  often  manage  to  turn  them, 
are  in  themselves  mischievous  and  deteriorating  to  him. 
Somewhere  and  somehow,  and  at  some  time  or  other,  he 


A    LAST  WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     219 

has  to  pay  a  penalty  and  to  suffer  a  loss  for  taking  delight 
in  them.  It  is  bad  for  people  to  hear  such  words  and  such 
a  tune  as  the  words  or  tune  of,  O  happy  place  /  when  shall 
I  be,  my  God,  with  thee,  to  see  thy  face? — worse  for  them  to 
take  pleasure  in  it.  And  the  time  will  come,  I  hope, 
when  we  shall  feel  the  unsatisfactoriness  of  our  present 
hymns,  and  they  will  disappear  from  our  religious  services. 
But  that  time  has  not  come  yet,  and  will  not  be  brought 
about  soon  or  suddenly.  We  must  deal  with  circum- 
stances as  they  exist  for  us.  Hymns  are  extremely  popular 
both  with  Church-people  and  with  Dissenters.  Church 
and  Dissent  meet  here  on  a  common  ground ;  and  both 
of  them  admit,  in  hymns,  an  element  a  good  deal  less 
worthy,  certainly,  than  the  regular  liturgy,  but  also  a  good 
deal  less  fixed.  In  the  use  of  hymns  we  have  not,  then, 
as  in  the  use  of  speeches  and  extemporaneous  prayings,  a 
source  of  risk  to  our  public  religious  services  from  which 
they  are  at  present  free  ;  for  they  allow  of  hymns  already. 
Here  are  means  for  offering,  without  public  detriment,  a 
concession  to  Dissenters,  and  for  gratifying  their  wishes. 
Many  of  them  would  hke,  in  burying  their  friends,  to 
sing  a  hymn  at  the  grave.  Let  them.  Some  concession 
has  been  already  proposed  in  the  way  of  allowing  a 
hymn  to  be  sung  as  the  funeral  enters  the  churchyard. 
Let  the  concession  be  made  more  free  and  ample  ;  let  a 


220    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

hymn  or  hymns  be  admitted  as  a  part  of  the  regular 
sei^vice  at  the  grave.  The  mourners  should  have  to  give 
notice  beforehand  to  the  clergyman  of  their  wish  for  the 
hymn,  and  it  ought  to  be  taken  from  one  of  the  collections 
in  general  use. 

This  hymnody  would  lengthen  the  burial-service.  In 
view  of  this,  I  should  like  to  suggest  one  alteration  in 
that  beautiful  and  noble  service ;  an  alteration  by  which 
time  might  be  got  for  the  hymn  when  desired,  and 
which  would  moreover  in  itself  be,  I  cannot  but  think, 
an  improvement.  The  burial-service  has  but  one  lesson, 
taken  out  of  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  First  Epistle  to 
the  Corinthians.  The  passage  taken  is  very  long,  and, 
eloquent  and  interesting  as  it  is,  yet  it  is  also,  as  a  whole, 
very  difficult  to  understand.  I  should  say  that  it  is  diffi- 
cult as  a  whole  because  as  a  whole  it  is  embarrassed,  were 
it  not  that  many  people  cannot  conceive  of  an  inspired 
writer  as  ever  embarrassed.  I  will  not  raise  questions  of 
this  kind  now.  But  difficult  the  lesson  certainly  is ; 
difficult,  and  also  very  long.  Yet  it  has  parts  which  are 
most  grand  and  most  edifying ;  and  which  also,  taken  by 
themselves,  are  quite  clear.  And  a  lesson  of  Scripture 
should  make,  as  far  as  possible,  a  broad,  deep,  simple, 
single  impression ;  and  it  should  bring  out  that  impres- 
sion quite  clear.     Above  all,  a  lesson  used  at  the  burial 


A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     221 

of  the  dead,  and  widi  die  hearers'  minds  affe;cted  as  they 
then  are,  should  do  this.  It  should  be  a  real  ksson,  not 
merely  a  kef  ion  ;  which, — from  our  habit  of  taking  for 
this  purpose  long  readings,  hardly  ever  less  than  an 
entire  chapter,  and  in  which  many  matters  are  treated, — 
our  lessons  read  in  church  too  often  are. 

Now  the  offices  in  our  Prayer-Book  are,  as  has  been 
already  said,  for  the  most  part  made  up  out  of  the  old 
Catholic  offices,  the  common  religious  offices  of  Christen- 
dom before  it  was  divided.  But  whoever  looks  at  a 
Catholic  service-book  will  find  that  the  lessons  there  are 
in  general  very  much  shorter  than  ours.  There  are  more 
of  them  and  they  are  much  shorter,  aiming  at  being  as  far 
as  possible,  all  of  them,  complete  wholes  in  themselves, 
and  at  producing  one  distinct,  powerful,  total  impres- 
sion ;  which  is  the  right  aim  for  lessons  to  follow.  To 
this  end  chapters  are  broken  up,  and  parts  of  them  taken 
by  themselves,  and  verses  left  out,  and  things  which  are 
naturally  related  brought  together.  And  this  not  in  the 
least  with  a  controversial  design,  or  to  favour-  what  are 
called  Romish  doctrines,  but  simply  to  produce  a  clearer 
and  stronger  impression.  The  unknown  arranger  of 
these  old  lessons  has  simply  followed  the  instinct  of  a 
true  critic,  the  promptings  of  a  sound  natural  love  for 
what  is  clear  and  impressive.     And  in  following  this,  he 


222     A   LAST    WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

gives  an  instance  of  the  truth  of  what  I  have  somewhere 
said,  that  practically,  in  many  cases,  Catholics  are  less 
superstitious  in  their  way  of  dealing  with  the  Bible  than 
Protestants. 

The  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  First  Epistle  to  the  Co- 
rinthians appears  in  the  Catholic  offices  for  the  dead, 
but  in  detached  portions  ;  each  portion  thus  becoming 
more  intelligible,  and  producing  a  greater  effect.  Thus 
the  seven  verses  from  the  beginning  of  the  20th  verse 
{Now  is  Christ  I'iseii  from  the  dead),  to  the  end  of  the 
26th  {The  last  enemy  that  shall  be  desti'oyed  is  death), 
form  one  lesson,  and  a  most  impressive  one.  Another 
admirable  and  homogeneous  lesson  is  given  by  taking  the 
verses  from  the  41st  {There  is  07ie  glory  of  the  sun),  to  the 
end  of  the  50th  {Neither  doth  corruption  inJwit  in- 
co7'riiption),  then  passing  from  thence  to  the  beginning  of 
the  53rd  {For  this  corruptible  must  put  07i  iiicorruptio^i), 
and  continuing  down  to  the  end  of  the  next  verse  {Death 
is  swalloiued  up  in  victory).  Here  we  have  two  separate 
lessons,  much  shorter,  even  both  of  them  together,  than 
the  present  lesson,  and  (I  think  it  will  be  found)  more 
impressive  by  being  detached  from  it. 

But  a  lesson  from  the  Old  Testament  is  surely  to  be 
desired  also.  Who  would  not  love  to  hear,  in  such  a 
service,  that  magnificent  prophecy  on  the  breathing  of 


A   LAST   WORD   ON   THE  BURIALS  BILL,     ii-^^, 


life  into  the  dry  bones,  the  first  ten  verses  of  the  thirty- 
seventh  chapter  of  Ezekiel  ?  This  also  is  to  be  found  as 
one  of  the  lessons  in  the  Catholic  offices  for  the  dead. 
In  the  same  offices  is  another  lesson,  even  more  desir- 
able, it  seems  to  me,  to  have  in  our  burial-service  ;—  a 
lesson,  the  most  explicit  we  have,  a  lesson  from  our 
Saviour  himself  on  the  resurrection  of  the  dead.  Simply 
that  short  passage  of  the  fifth  chapter  of  St.  John,  from 
the  24th  verse  to  the  end  of  the  29th; — the  passage 
containing  the  verse  :  The  how-  is  coming,  and  now  is, 
when  the  dead  shall  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of  God,  and 
they  that  hear  shall  live. 

Thus  we  have,  instead  of  one  long  and  difficult 
lesson,  four  short,  clear,  and  most  powerfully  impressive 
ones.  Let  the  rubric  before  the  existing  lesson  be 
changed  to  run  as  follows  :— '  Then  shall  be  read  one  or 
more  of  these  lessons  following ; '  and  we  shall  have  the 
means  of  making  time  for  the  hymn,  if  hymns  are 
desired,  without  unduly  lengthening  the  service  ;  and  if 
hymns  are  not  desired,  we  shall  be  richer  in  our  lessons 
than  we  are  now. 

But  the  hymn  at  the  grave  is  not  the  only  concession 
which  we  can  without  public  detriment  make  in  this 
matter  to  the  Dissenters.  Many  Dissenters  prefer  to 
bury   their  dead   in   silence.      Silent   funerals   are    the 


224    A    LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

practice  in  the  Church  of  Scotland,  and,  I  believe,  with 
Presbyterians  generally.  To  silent  funerals  in  the  parish 
churchyard  there  can  manifestly  be,  on  the  score  of  order, 
propriety,  and  dignity,  no  objection.  A  clergyman  can- 
not feel  himself  aggrieved  at  having  to  perform  them. 
The  public  cannot  feel  aggrieved  by  their  being  per- 
formed in  a  place  of  solemn  and  public  character. 
Whenever,  therefore,  it  is  desired  that  burial  in  the  parish 
churchyard  should  take  place  in  silence,  the  clergyman 
should  be  authorised  and  directed  to  comply  with  this 
desire. 

4- 
Thus  I  have  sought  to  make  clear  and  to  justify  what 
I  meant  by  that  short  sentence  about  burials  which 
occurred  in  what  I  said  at  Sion  College,  and  at  which  a 
certain  dissatisfaction  was  expressed  by  some  whom  I 
am  loth  to  dissatisfy.  The  precise  amount  of  change 
recommended,  and  the  reasons  for  making  it,  and  for  not 
making  it  greater,  have  now  been  fully  stated.  To  sum 
up  the  changes  recommended,  they  are  as  follows  : — The 
first  rubric  to  be  expunged  ;  four  lessons  to  be  substituted 
for  the  present  single  lesson,  and  the  rubric  preceding  it 
to  run  :  '  Then  shall  be  read  one  or  more  of  these 
lessons  following;'  the  words,  as  our  Jiope  is  this  our 
brother  dotJi^  to  be  left  out  ;  a  hymn  or  hymns,  from  one 


A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  DILL.     225 

of  the  collections  in  general  use,  to  be  sung  at  the  grave 
if  the  friends  of  the  deceased  wish  it,  and  if  they  notify 
their  desire  to  the  clergyman  beforehand  ;  silent  burial 
to  be  performed  on  the  like  conditions. 

The  Dissenters,  some  of  them,  demand  a  great  deal 
more  than  this,  and  their  political  friends  try  to  get  a 
great  deal  more  for  them.  What  I  have  endeavoured  is 
to  find  out  what  to  a  fair  and  sensible  man,  without  any 
political  and  partisan  bias  whatever,  honestly  taking  the 
circumstances  of  our  country  into  account  and  the  best 
way  of  settling  this  vexed  question  of  burials, — to  find  out 
what  to  such  a  man  would  seem  to  be  reasonable  and 
expedient.  Nor  are  the  concessions  and  changes  proposed 
so  insignificant.  I  believe  the  majority  of  the  Dissenters 
themselves  would  be  satisfied  with  them.  Certainly  this 
would  be  the  case  if  we  count  the  Methodists  with  the 
Dissenters,  and  do  not  mean  by  Dissenters,  as  people 
sometimes  mean,  the  political  Dissenters  only.  And  those 
who  are  incensed  with  the  folly  of  some  of  the  clergy  in 
this  matter,  and  desire  to  punish  them,  would  probably 
find  that  they  could  inflict  upon  these  men  of  arbitrary 
temper  no  severer  punishment,  than  by  simply  taking  away 
from  them,  where  burials  are  concerned,  the  scope  for  exer- 
cising it.  However,  my  object  in  what  I  have  proposed 
is  not  to  punish  certain  of  the  clergy,  any  more  than  to 

Q 


226    A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

mortify  certain  of  the  Dissenters,  but  simply  to  arrive  at 
what  is  most  for  the  good  and  for  the  dignity  of  the 
whole  community.  Certainly  it  is  postulated  that  to 
accept  some  public  form  shall  be  the  condition  for  using 
public  and  venerable  places.  But  really  this  must  be 
clear,  one  would  thmk,  to  any  one  but  a  partisan,  if  he 
at  all  knows  what  '  things  lovely  and  of  good  report '  are, 
and  the  value  of  them.  It  must  be  clear  to  many  of  the 
warmest  adversaries  of  the  Church.  It  is  not  hidden,  I 
am  sure,  from  Mr.  Johil  Morley  himself,  who  is  a  lover 
of  culture,  and  of  elevation,  and  of  beauty,  and  of 
human  dignity.  I  am  sure  he  feels,  that  what  is  here 
proposed  is  more  reasonable  and  desirable  than  what  his 
Dissenting  friends  demand.  Scio,  rex  Agrippa,  quia 
a-edis.  He  is  keeping  company  with  his  Festus  Cham- 
berlain, and  his  Drusilla  Collings,  and  cannot  openly 
avow  the  truth  ;  but  in  his  heart  he  consents  to  it. 

And  now  I  do  really  take  leave  of  the  question  of 
Church  and  Dissent,  as  I  promised.  Whether  the 
Dissenters  will  believe  it  or  not,  my  wish  to  reconcile 
them  with  the  Church  is  from  no  desire  to  give  their 
adversaries  a  victory  and  them  a  defeat,  but  from  the 
conviction  that  they  are  on  a  false  line  ;  from  sorrow  at 
seeing  their  fine  qualities  and  energies  thrown  away,  from 
hoDe  of  signal  good  to  this  whole  nation  if  they  can  be 


A  LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL.     227 

turned  to  better  account.  *  The  dissidence  of  Dissent, 
and  the  Protestantism  of  the  Protestant  reHgion/  have 
some  of  mankind's  deepest  and  truest  instincts  against 
them,  and  cannot  finally  prevail.  If  they  prevail  for  a 
time,  that  is  only  a  temporary  stage  in  man's  history ; 
they  will  fail  in  the  end,  and  will  have  to  confess  it. 

It  is  said,  and  on  what  seems  good  authority,  that 
already  in  America,  that  Paradise  of  the  sects,  there  are 
signs  of  reaction,  and  that  the  multitude  of  sects  there 
begin  to  tend  to  agglomerate  themselves  into  two  or  three 
great  bodies.  It  is  said,  too,  that  whereas  the  Church  of 
Rome,  in  the  first  year  of  the  present  century,  had  but 
one  in  two  hundred  of  the  population  of  the  United 
States,  it  has  now  one  in  six  or  seven.  This  at  any  rate 
is  certain,  that  the  great  and  sure  gainer  by  the  dissidence 
of  Dissent  and  the  Protestantism  of  the  Protestant  re- 
ligion is  the  Church  of  Rome.  Unity  and  continuity  in 
public  religious  worship  are  a  need  of  human  nature,  an 
eternal  aspiration  of  Christendom  \  but  unity  and  con- 
tinuity in  religious  worship  joined  with  perfect  mental 
sanity  and  freedom.  A  Catholic  Church  transformed  is, 
I  believe,  the  Church  of  the  future.  But  what  the  Dis- 
senters, by  their  false  aims  and  misused  powers,  at  present 
effect,  is  to  extend  and  prolong  the  reign  of  a  Catholic 
Church   ^^transformed,   with  all  its   conflicts,  impossi- 


228     A   LAST   WORD   ON  THE  BURIALS  BILL. 

bilities,  miseries.  That,  however,  is  what  the  Dissenters, 
in  their  present  state,  cannot  and  will  not  see.  For  the 
growth  of  insight  to  recognise  it,  one  must  rely,  both 
among  the  Dissenters  themselves  and  in  the  nation 
which  has  to  judge  their  aims  and  proceedings,  on  the 
help  of  time  and  progress ; — time  and  progress,  in  alliance 
with  the  ancient  afid  inbred  i7ttegrity,  piety,  good  nature, 
and  good  humonr  of  the  Efiglish  people. 


LONDON  :   PRINTED    BY 

SPOTTISWOODE      AND      CO.,      NEW-STREET      SQUAF 

AND   PARLIAMENT   STREET 


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